THE  LIBRARY 
OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


SEEN     AND      HEARD 


POEMS 


OR   THE    LIKE. 


MORRISON    HEADY. 


BALTIMORE : 

HENRY    C.    TURNBULL,   J 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1869,  by 
MORRISON    HEADY, 

In  the  Clerk's  office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the 
District  of  Kentucky. 


PS 


DEDICATION. 


TO  MY  FRIENDS— 

AND     YE     BE      MY     FRIENDS     WHO      READ      MY     BOOK- 
I  DEDICATE  WHATEVER  OF  EXCELLENCE  OR  BEAUTY 

YE  MAY  CHANCE  TO  FIND  HEREIN  : 
TO  OBLIVION,  THE  REST. 


759387 


CONTENTS. 


THE  DOUBLE  NIGHT  :— 

DARKNESS 7 

SILENCE 11 

To  THE  SHADES 14 

RESIGNATION 18 

YOONEMSKOTA  :— 

PROLOGUE 21 

MIST  AND  MOONSHINE 24 

THE  HUNTING-LODGE 28 

OVER  THE  RIVER 31 

SUNRISE 35 

THE  COUNCIL-LODGE 39 

SPEECH  OF  HWORAMISTA 41 

SPEECH  OF  BLACK-WOLF 44 

SPEECH  OF  OHENO 47 

SECOND  SPEECH  OF  HWORAMINTA 52 

SPEECH  OF  SNAKE-EYE * 58 

SPEECH  OF  YOONEMSKOTA 62 

THE  DEATH-STAKE 69 

YOONEMSKOTA'S  WAR-SONG 73 

SUNSET 78 

MOONRISE 82 


CONTENTS.  V. 

PAGE. 

FIRED 87 

YOONEMSKOTA'S  DEATH-SONG 91 

QUENCHED 95 

HUSH!    HE  DREAMS 99 

HIST!  SHE  COMES 105 

Lo!   THEY  FLY 108 

DOWN  THE  RIVER 114 

YOONEMSKOTA'S  PEACE  SONG 118 

EPILOGUE 123 

THE  END  OF  TIME 126 

BLINDNESS 133 

DEATH  OF  A  ROSE 137 

TWICE  IN  FANCY 140 

MY  DREAM  OF  PENSYLLA 145 

DREAMING.     A  FRAGMENT 150 

FRAGMENT 15.°, 

THE  APOCALYPSE  OF  THE  SEASONS  :— 

A  SPRING  MORNING 15G 

A  SUMMER  NOON 158 

Ax  AUTUMN  EVENING 161 

A  WINTER  NIGHT 163 

DAWNING  GLIMPSES  OF  IMMORTALITY 167 


PREFACE. 


MB.  MORRISON  HEADY,  the  author  of  these  poems,  was  born 
in  Spencer  County,  Kentucky,  and  is  now  nearly  forty  years  of 
age.  When  about  sixteen  years  old,  he  suffered  an  injury  to  one  of 
his  eyes  which  resulted  in  total  loss  of  sight  in  both,  and  this  calam- 
ity was  soon  aggravated  by  loss  of  hearing.  By  the  aid  of  a  trum- 
pet he  can  yet  distinguish  some  familiar  voices ;  but  even  this  slight 
communication  with  the  external  world  is  rapidly  failing  him. 

Though  prevented  by  this  double  deprivation  from  repairing  by 
study  the  defects  of  a  very  imperfect  school  education,  he  has  been 
able  to  acquire  large  and  varied  information  by  intercourse  with 
intelligent  persons,  while  such  intercourse  was  still  possible,  and 
by  the  exercise  of  vigorous  powers  of  reflection.  No  one  know- 
ing the  facts,  and  reading  the  vivid  and  picturesque  bits  of  de- 
scription in  his  writings,  can  fail  to  be  struck  with  the  keenness 
of  his  perceptive  faculties,  before  clouded  by  what  he  pathetically 
calls  "  the  double  night"  of  darkness  and  silence. 

For  the  purposes  of  communication,  he  has  invented  and  con- 
structed with  his  own  hands  a  writing-machine,  by  the  aid  of 
which  he  expresses  himself  with  considerable  facility. 

Some  of  Mr.  Heady's  poems  have  appeared  in  the  Louisville 
Journal,  to  whose  readers  he  was  known  as  "  The  Blind  Bard  of 
Kentucky  ;"  others  in  the  Episcopal  Methodist  and  the  New  Ec- 
lectic Magazine  of  Baltimore,  and  were  warmly  praised  by  com- 
petent critics,  some  of  whom  had  no  knowledge  of  the  fact  that 
they  were  the  productions  of  a  blind  man.  The  best  of  these 
poems  are  included  in  the  present  volume,  the  far  greater  part  of 
which,  however,  has  never  before  been  published. 

Besides  his  poems,  Mr.  Heady  has  written  a  juvenile  History 
of  Washington,  and  has  ready  for  the  press  a  Life  of  Columbus 
"of  higher  pretensions."  He  is  also  engaged  upon  other  works. 

II.  C.  T.,  Jr. 


THE  DOUBLE  NIGHT. 


TO      THE      SHADES      OF      MILTON'      AND      BEETHOVEN. 


"Silence  and  Darkness,  solemn  sisters,  twins 
From  ancient  Night,  who  nursed  the  tender  thought 
To  reason,  and  on  reason  build  resolve — 
That  column  of  true  majesty  in  man- 
Assist  me, — I  will  thank  you  in  the  grave." 

—\iyht  Thought* 

DARKNESS. 


|0,  bring  the  harp  that,  once  with  dirges  thrilled, 

But  now  hangs  hushed  in  leaden  slumbers, 
Save  when  the  faltering  hand  untimely  chilled 
Steals  o'er  its  chords  in  broken  numbers. 
It  hangs  in  halls  where  shades  of  sorrow  dwell, 
Where  echoless  Silence  tolls  the  passing  bell, 
Where  shadowless  Darkness  weaves  the  shrouding  spell 

Of  parting  joys  and  parting  years. 
Go,  bring  it  me,  sweet  friend,  and  ere  we  part, 
A  lay  I'll  frame,  so  sad,  'twill  wring  thy  heart 
Of  all  its  pity,  all  its  tears. 


SEEN    AND    HEARD. 

As  fitful  shadows  round  me  gather  fast, 

And  solemn  watch  my  thoughts  are  holding, 
Comes  Memory,  Panoramist  of  the  Past, 

The  rising  morn  of  life  unfolding. 
Now  fade  from  view  all  living  toil  and  strife ; 
Time  past  is  now  my  present ;  death,  my  life  ; — 

All  that  exists  is  obsolete  ; 

While  o'er  my  soul  there  steals  the  pensive  glow 
Of  sainted  joys  that  young  years  only  know, 
And  past  scenes,  looming  dimly,  rise  and  throw 

Their  lengthening  shadows  at  my  feet. 

I  sec  a  morn,  domed  in  by  pictured  skies ; 

The  dew  is  on  its  budding  pleasures, 
The  gladsome  early  sunlight  on  it  lies, 
And  to  it  from  this  dark  my  pent  soul  flies, 

As  misers  nightly  to  their  treasures. 
And,  as  I  look,  I  sec  a  glittering  train, 
In  airy  throng,  across  the  dream-lit  plain, 

Come  dancing,  dancing  from  the  tomb; 
Flitting  in  phantom  silence  on  my  sight ; — 
In  silence,  yet  all  beautiful  and  bright — 

The  ghosts  of  joy,  and  hope,  and  bloom. 
But  passed  me  by  ;  their  lines  of  fading  light 
Tell  of  decay,  of  youth's  and  beauty's  blight; 
Then,  like  spent  meteors  shimmering  through  the  night, 

The  vision  melts  in  closing  gloom. 


THE    DOUBLE   NIGHT. 

Another  day,  in  sable  vesture  clad, 

All  drear  with  new-blown  pleasures  blighted, 

Comes  blindly  groping  through  the  twilight  sad, 
As  one  in  moonless  mists  benighted. 

0  !  Day  unhappy  !  could  oblivion  roll 

Its  slumberous  billows  o'er  my  shrinking  sou1, 

Thee  scarce  I  could,  e'en  then,  forget : 
A  life,  bereft  of  light,  no  memory  needs 
To  tell  of  night  that  ne'er  to  morning  leads, 
Of  day  that  is  forever  set. 

From  yonder  sky  the  noon  ward  sun  was  torn, 

Ere  day-dawn's  rosy  hues  had  banished ; 
A  starless  midnight  blotted  out  the  morn, 

Ere  childhood's  dewy  joys  had  vanished. 
No  slow-paced  twilight  ushered  in  the  night ; 
A  spangled  web,  the  Heavens  were  swept  from  sight; 

The  full  moon  fled  and  never  waned  ; 
And  all  of  Earth  that's  beautiful  and  fair, 
Became  as  shadows  in  the  empty  air — 

A  boundless,  blackened  blank  remained! 

1  heard  the  gates  of  night,  with  sullen  jar, 

Close  on  the  cheerful  day  forever ; 
Hope  from  my  sky  sank  like  the  evening  star, 
Which  finds  in  darkness,  zenith  never ; 


10  SEEN   AXD   HEARD. 

For  scarce  she  knew,  blithe  offspring  of  the  day, 
How  there  td  shine,  where  night  held  boundless  sway; 

And  shapes  of  beauty,  grace  and  bloom, 
And  fair-formed  joys  that  once  around  me  danced^ 
Bewildered  grew,  where  sunbeam  never  glanced, 

And  lost  their  way  in  that  wide  gloom. 

Pensylla,  o'er  me  many  sunless  years 

Have  flown,  since  last  the  beam  of  heaven, 
The  soft  ascent  of  morn  through  smiles  and  tears, 

The  sweet  descent  of  dreamy  even, — 
Or  sight  of  wood  and  fields  in  green  arrayed, 
Vernal  resplendence,  or  autumnal  shade, 

Or  Winter's  gloom,  or  Summer's  blaze  ; 
Bird,  beast,  or  works  that  trophy  man's  abode, 
Or  he  divine,  the  image  of  his  God, 

Met  my  rapt  gaze. 

Look,  gentle  guide  !     Thou  see'st  the  imperial  sun 

Forth  sending  far  his  ambient  glory, 
O'er  laughing  fields  and  frowning  highlands  dun, 

O'er  glancing  streams  and  woodlands  hoary. 
In  orient  clouds  he  steeps  his  amber  hair ; 
With  beams  far  slanting  through  the  flaming  air, 
Bids  Earth,  with  all  her  hymning  sound,  declare 

The  praise  of  everlasting  light. 


n 

THE   DOUBLE   NIGHT.  11 

On  my  bared  head  I  felt  his  pitying  ray ; 
He  loves  to  shine  on  my  benighted  way ; 
But  ah,  Pensylla!  he  brings  to  me  no  day — 
Nor  yet  his  setting,  deeper  night. 

Prime  gift  of  God,  that  veil'st  His  sovereign  throne, 

And  dost  of  Him  in  sense  remind  me, 
Blest  light  of  Heaven,  why  hast  thou  from  me  flown? 

To  these  sad  shades,  why  hast  resigned  me? 
On  pinions  of  surpassing  beauty  borne, 
When  Nature  hails  the  glad  advance  of  morn, 

In  thine  unsullied  loveliness 

Thou  com'st;  but  to  my  darkened  eyes  in  vain  ; — 
My  night,  eren  in  the  noon  of  thy  domain, 
Yields  not  to  thee,  since  joy  of  thine  again 

Can  ne'er  my  daylcss  being  bless. 


SILENCE. 


NEXT,  Silence,  fit  companion  of  the  .Night, 
In  drearier  depths  my  being  steeping, 
Like  the  felt  presence  of  an  unseen  sprite, 

With  muffled  tread,  comes  creeping,  creeping. 
Before  me  close  her  smothering  curtain  swings, 
And  o'er  my  life  a  shadeless  shadow  flings  ; 


12  SEEN   AND   HEARD. 

Sinking  with  pitiless  weight,  and  slow, 
To  shroud  the  last  sweet  glimpse  of  Earth  and  Man, 
And  set  my  limits  to  the  narrow  span 

Of  but  an  arm's  length  here  below. 


0  whither  shall  I  fly,  this  stroke  to  shun? 
Where  turn  me,  this  side  death  and  heaven? 

Almost  I  would  my  course  on  earth  were  run, 
And  all  to  Night  and  Silence  given  ! 

1  turn  to  man  :  can  he  but  with  me  mourn  ? 
Alike  we're  helpless,  and,  as  bubbles  borne, 

We  to  a  common  haven  float. 
To  Him,  th'  All-seeing  and  All-hearing  One, 
Behold,  I  turn  !     More  hid  than  He  there's  none, 

More  silent  none,  none  more  remote ! 

Alas,  Pensylla,  stay  that  pious  tear ! 

Now  nearer  come,  I  fain  thy  voice  would  hear; — 

Like  music  when  the  soul  is  dreaming, 
Like  music  dropping  from  a  far-off  sphere, 
Heard  by  the  good,  when  life's  end  draweth  near, 

It  faintly  comes,  a  spirit  seeming. 
The  sounds  at  once  entranced  me,  ear  and  soul: 
The  voice  of  winds  and  waves,  the  thunder's  roll, 

The  steed's  proud  neigh,  and  lamb's  meek  plaint, 


THE   DOUBLE   NIGHT.  13 

The  hum  of  bees,  and  vesper  hymn  of  birds, 
The  rural  harmony  of  flocks  and  herds, 
The  song  of  joy,  or  praise,  and  man's  sweet  words — * 
Come  to  me  fainter — yet  more  faint. 

Was  my  poor  soul  to  God's  great  works  so  dull, 

That  they  from  her  must  hide  forever  ? 
Earth  too  replete  with  joy,  too  beautiful, 

For  me,  ingrate,  that  we  must  sever? 
For  by  sweet-scented  airs  that  round  me  blow, 
By  transient  showers,  the  sun's  impassioned  glow, 
And  smell  of  woods  and  fields,  alone  I  know 

Of  Spring's  approach,  and  Summer's  bloom; 
And  by  the  pure  air,  void  of  odors  sweet, 
By  noontide  beams,  low  slanting,  without  heat, 
By  rude  winds,  cumbering  snows,  and  hazardous  sleet, — 

Of  Autumn's  blight,  and  Winter's  gloom. 

As  at  the  entrance  of  an  untrod  cave, 

I  shrink — so  hushed  the  shades,  and  sombre. 

This  death  of  sense  makes  life  a  breathing  grave, 
A  vital  death,  a  waking  slumber  ! 


NOTE— 18C8.- 

And  now,  save  man's  sweet  word?,  'tis  silence,  all. 


14  SEEN   AND   HEARD. 

'Tis  as  the  light  itself  of  God  were  fled — 
So  dark  is  all  around,  so  still,  so  dead ; 

Nor  hope  of  change,  one  ray  I  find! 
Yet  must  submit.     Though  fled  fore'er  the  light, 
Though  utter  silence  bring  me  double  night, 

Though  to  my  insulated  mind, 
Knowledge  her  richest  pages  ne'er  unfold, 
And  "  human  face  divine"  I  ne'er  behold — 

Yet  must  submit,  must  be  resigned ! 


TO  THE  SHADES. 


TO  thee,  blind  Milton,  solemn  son  of  night, 
Great  exile  once  from  day's  dominion  bright, 
Whose  genius,  steeped  in  truth  and  glory, 
Like  some  wide  orb  of  new-created  light, 
Rose  on  the  world,  bewildering  mortals'  sight, — 

I'll  sing,  till  earth's  young  hills  grow  hoary ! 
For  what  of  joy  I've  found  in  life's  dark  way, 
And  what  of  excellence  have  reached  I  may, 
Much,  much  is  due  thy  wondrous  rhyme, 


THE  DOUBLE   NIGHT.  15 

Which  sang  the  triumphs  of  Eternal  Truth, 
Revealed  blest  glimpses  of  immortal  youth, 

Of  Heaven,  e'er  angels  sang  of  Time ; 
Of  light,  that  o'er  the  embryon  tumult  broke, 
Of  earth,  when  all  the  stars  symphonious  woke,— 
Till  man,  as  if  from  Heaven  a  seraph  spoke, 

Entranced,  hung  on  thy  strains  sublime. 

Day  closes  on  the  earth  his  one  bright  eye, 

That  Night,  her  starry  lids  unsealing, 
May  ope  her  thousand  in  a  loftier  sky, 

God's  higher  mysteries  revealing. 
So,  when  thy  day  from  thee  its  light  withdrew, 
And  o'er  thee  night  its  rueful  shadows  threw, 

And  "from  the  cheerful  ways  of  men" 
Thy  steps  cut  off,  thy  mind,  thick  set  with  eyes, 
As  night  with  stars,  piercing  thy  shrouded  skies, 

And  proving  most  illumined  then, 
When  darkest  seeming,  soared  on  cherub  wings — 
Those  star-eyed  wings — higher  than  ever  springs 
The  beam  of  day,  to  see,  and  tell  of  things 

Invisible  to  mortal  ken. 

O'er  earth  thy  numbers  shall  not  cease  to  roll 
Till  man  to  live,  who  to  them  hearkened ; 

Thy  fame,  no  less  immortal  than  thy  soul, 
Shall  shine  when  yon  proud  sun  is  darkened. 


16  SEEX    AND    HEARD. 

Thee,  now,  methinks,  I  see,  0  bard  divine  ! 
There  ripen  no  fair  joys  that  are  not  thine, 
And  God's  full  love  is  pleased  on  thee  to  shine. 

Still  by  the  heavenly  Muses  fired, 
And  starred  among  the  angelic  minstrel  band, 
The  sacred  lyre  thou  sway'st  with  sovereign  hand, 
While  seraphs,  in  awed  rapture,  round  thee  stand, 

As  one  by  God  himself  inspired. 

Sublime  Beethoven,  wizard-king  of  sound, 

Once  exiled  from  thy  realm,  yet  not  discrowned, — 

Assist  me  ;  since  my  spirit,  thrilling 
With  thy  surpassing  strains,  is  mute,  spell-bound; 
For  through  the  hush  of  years  they  still  resound, 

With  music  weird  my  spent  ear  filling. 
When  Silence  clasped  thee  in  her  dismal  spell, 
And  earth-born  Music  sang  her  sad  farewell, 

Thy  mighty  genius,  as  in  scorn, 
Arose,  in  silent  majesty  to- dwell, 
Where  from  symphonic  spheres  thou  heardst  to  swell, 

As  on  celestial  breezes  borne, 

Sounds,  scarce  by  angels  heard,  e'en  in  their  dreams; 
Which,  at  thy  bidding,  wrought  a  thousand  themes, 
And  pouring  down  in  rich,  pellucid  streams, 

Filled  organ  grand,  and  resonant  horn; 
With  rarest  sweetness  touched  each  dulcet  string, 


THE   DOUBLE   NIGHT.  17 

Made  martial  bugle  and  bold  clarion  ring, 

Soft  flute  provoked,  like  the  lone  bird  of  Spring, 

To  warble  lays  of  love  forlorn  ; 
Woke  shrilly  reed  to  many  a  pastoral  note, 
Thrilled  witching  lyre,  and  lips  melodious  smote, — 
Till  earth,  in  tuneful  ether,  seemed  to  float, 

As  when  first  sang  the  stars  of  morn! 
Till  wondering  angels  were  entranced  to  chime, 
With  harp  and  choral  tongue,  thy  strains  sublime, 
And  bear  thy  soul  beyond  the  reach  of  time, 

Heaven's  halls  harmonious  to  adorn. 

Ah,  me!  could  I,  with  ken  angelic,  scan 
Celestial  glories,  hid  from  mortal  man, 

I'd  deem  this  night  a  day  supernal ! 
Could  music,  borne  from  some  far  singing  sphere, 
Float  sweetly  down,  and  thrill  my  stricken  ear, 

I'd  pray  this  hush  might  be  eternal ! 


18  SEEN    AND    HEARD. 


RESIGNATION, 


T)ENSYLLA,  look !     With  tremulous  points  of  fire, 
J-       The  sun,  red-sinking,  lights  yon  distant  spire; 

O'er  leafy  hill  and  blossoming  meadows, 
Spreads  wide  and  level  his  departing  beams, 
Then  sinks  to  rest,  as  one  sure  of  sweet  dreams, 

'Mid  pillowing  clouds  and  curtaining  shadows. 
Night  draws  her  lucid  shade  o'er  sky  and  earth  ; 
Solemn  and  bright,  Heaven's  starry  eyes  look  forth  ; 
The  evening  hymn  of  praise  and  song  of  mirth 

Rise  gratefully  from  man's  abode. 
O  Night !  I  love  her  sombre  majesty  ! 
'Tis  sweet,  her  double  solitude,  to  me! 
Pensylla,  leave  me  now  !     Alone  I'd  be 

With  Darkness,  Silence,  and  my  God! 

O  Thou,  whose  shadow  is  but  light's  excess, 
The  echo  of  whose  voice  but  silentness, 

Whose  light  and  music,  half  expended, 
Would  flood,  dissolve  the  sphery  frame ;  'twixt  whom 
And  man  no  endless  night  can  throw  its  gloom, 

Till  long  Eternity  is  ended — 
Which  ne'er  shall  end — to  Thee,  my  trust,  I  turn ! 


THE   DOUBLE   NIGHT.  19 

To  one,  for  whom  in  vain  thy  lamps  now  burn, 
A  hearing  deign  ;  nor  from  Thy  footstool  spurn 

The  prayer  of  an  imprisoned  mind. 
Father,  Thy  sun  is  set;  night  veils  the  world, 
That  orbs  more  beauteous  be  to  man  unfurled. 

Then,  in  my  Night,  let  me  but  find 
New  realms,  where  thought  and  fancy  may  rejoice ; 
Let  its  long  silence  ne'er  displace  Thy  voice 
From  whispering  hope  and  peace,  and  'twere  my  choice 

To  be  thus  smitten  deaf  and  blind  ! 
Fill  me  with  light  and  music  from  above, 
And  so  inspire  with  truth,  faith,  courage,  love, 
That  Thou  and  man  my  work  can  well  approve, — 

Father,  to  all,  I'm  then  resigned! 

Harp  of  the  mournful  voice,  now  fare  thce  well! 
My  sad  song  ended,  ended  is  thy  spell. 

Perchance  thine  echoes,  memory  haunting, 
May  oft  awaken,  shadowing  forth  the  swell 
Of  long-sung  monody,  and  long-tolled  knell, 

Voices  o'er  the  dead  past,  dirges  chanting  : 
But  for  me,  ever  hang  in  Sorrow's  hall ! 
Bid  Night  and  Silence  spread  oblivion's  pall 
O'er  earthly-blooming  joys,  that  scared  must  fall, 

And  leave  the  stricken  soul  to  weep  : — 
Ever,  till  this  devoted  head  be  hoar, 


20  SEEN    AND    HEARD. 

And  the  swart  angel  whispering  at  the  door ; 
When  I  thy  slumbers  may  disturb  once  more, 

^Ere  double  night  bring  double  sleep. 
Till  then,  I  sing  in  happier,  bolder  strain : 
What's  lost  to  me  is  God's ;  what's  left,  for  pain 
Or  joy,  still  His :  and  endless  day,  His  reign : 

And  reckoning  of  my  Night  He'll  keep  ! 

1853,  1868. 


YOONEMSKOTA.* 


AX    INDIAN   IDYLL. 


PROLOGUE. 


llX  the  Hunter's  Paradise — 
Once  a  dark  and  bloody  ground, 
Land  of  green  Kentucky  now, 
And  her  sister  land  that  lies 
Just  beyond  La  Belle. Riviere, 
Else,  Ohio—' '  Eagle  River ;  "— f 
E'en  in  green  Kentucky,  then, 
And  Ohio,  rivals  once 
In  the  charms  and  ways  of  life, 
Dearest  to  the  Indian  heart, 
Hunting,  fishing,  war  and  love — 
Happened  what  I  mean  to  tell  you. 


*  This  name  is  compounded  from  the  two  Shawnee  words— yoonemake 
{thunder),  and  skoate  (fire)— Thunder-and-Fire. 
f  So  named  by  the  Shawnees. 

(21) 


SEEN   AND   IIEARD. 

Happened  once  upon  a  time, 
In  the  leafy  years  of  hills, 
In  the  flowery  years  of  woods, 
In  the  singing  years  of  streams, 
When  our  grandsires  still  were  young, 
Younger  still  this  mighty  nation  ; 
Ere  the  ancient  brotherhood 
Of  the  oaks  and  pines  sank  down, 
Under  white  man's  levelling  axe ; 
Ere  the  infant  sisterhood 
Of  the  Western  States  rose  up 
Under  white  man's  levelling  rifle 

Happened  to  a  Shawnee  brave — 
Yoonemskota  was  his  name — 
As  the  wild  hunt  he  pursued 
In  the  hunter's  paradise, 
Far  from  kindred,  far  from  home, 
From  Scioto's  Chilicothe — 
Town-upon-tlie- Leaning -Bank — 
Birthplace  of  the  greatest  man, 
Save  the  Father  of  our  land, 
All  this  Western  World  can  boast, — 
Greatest,  noblest  of  his  race, 
The  redoubtable  Tecumseh. 


YOONEMSKOTA.  23 

Would  Tecumseh  were  my  theme  ! 
Ay,  I'd  set  the  world  aflame  ! 
Set  the  dreamers  all  astare  ! 
Set  the  rhymers  all  agog ! 
Set  my  rhyme  above  the  rhyme 
Of  the  rarest  rhymer  ringing  ! 
But,  as  Yoonemskota  lived 
Earlier,  by  a  score  of  years, 
And  the  Red  man  ever  yields 
Preference  to  superior  age, 
With  like  reverence  we  must  first 
Sing  the  name  of  Yoonemskota. 

But  should  days  like  these  be  ours — 
Days  of  music  in  all  things — 
Music  in  the  world  that  plays, 
Music  in  the  world  that  plods, 
Music  in  the  world  that  plans, — 
Son  and  Daughter  of  the  pale  face, 
Then  Tecumseh  be  my  theme ! 
Then  I'll  set  the  world  aflame ! 
Set  the  dreamers  all  astare  ! 
Set  the  rhymers  all  agog  ! 
Set  my  rhyme  above  the  rhyme 
Of  the  rarest  rhymer  ringing. 


24  SEEN    AND    HEARD. 

MIST  AND  MOONSHINE. 


THE  bright-eyed  day  is  fled, 
With  wild  hunt,  cloud,  and  sunshine; 
The  dark-eyed  night  is  come, 
With  wild  dream,  mist,  and  moonshine. 
The  mist  is  on  the  hill, 
The  mist  is  on  the  valley, 
The  mist  is  on  the  swamp, 
The  mist  is  on  the  river. 
And  through  the  mist,  the  moon, 
With  purblind  eye,  looks  dimly  ; 
More  dimly  through  the  woods, 
She  shoots  a  ghostly  glimmer ; 
She  glimmers  fainter  still 
Into  the  bark-built  wigwam. 
Where  the  Red  hunter  lies, 
A.nd  hunts  on  in  his  slumbers. 

Like  whirlpools  in  the  sky, 
On  high  winds  clouds  go  whirling, 
Low,  over  the  misty  hills, 
Their  flitting  shadows  follow ; 
And  where  their  thin,  gray  skirts 
Are  rent  and  torn  in  tatters, 
They  show  the  blue,  and  stars 


YOONEMSKOTA. 

Upon  the  blue  arc  shining  ; 
Also,  where  is  no  mist,' 
They  shine  in  the  blue  water. 

The  shag-mancd  bison-bull 
Is  on  the  blue-grass  lying, 
And  in  his  bushy  lair, 
The  antlered  red  elk  sleeping. 
The  bear,  paw  after  paw, 
Is  climbing  to  his  hollow, 
High  up  the  sycamore-shell, 
Among  the  bare  white  branches. 
Snug  in  his  leaf-built  lodge, 
Nestles  the  grizzled  squirrel, 
Pillowed  upon  his  paws, 
With  bushy  tail  for  cover. 
The  panther,  sly  and  sleek, 
Is  crouching  in  his  dingle, 
Lapping,  with  savage  joy, 
The  warm  blood  of  his  victim. 
The  gray  wolf,  gaunt  and  grim, 
Goes  trotting  through  the  shadows, — 
A  stag,  a  bound,  a  howl, — 
And  there's  a  chase  in  the  forest. 

Vultures,  that  had  their  gorge 
At  sunset  on  the  war-plain, 


26  SEEN   AND   HEARD. 

Now  towards  their  craggy  nests, 
Their  sluggish  wings  are  turning. 
The  owl,  with  hootings  drear, 
Provokes  the  echoes  sorely, 
But  silent  the  eagle  screams, 
Until  the  rising  morning. 

The  Foe  is  coming  on, 
This  side  great  Eagle  River, 
Over  the  blue-grass  glades, 
And  through  the  vista'd  forests 
Of  the  dark  and  bloody  ground, 
The  paradise  of  hunters  ; 
Dodging  from  bush  to  bush, 
Where  shines  the  moon  unmisted, 
And  on  the  open  glade  ; 
But  where  the  mist  is  thickest, 
And  baffles  the  tell-tale  light, 
He  keeps  unswerving  onward, 
Nor  bends  he  then  the  grass, 
Nor  snaps  the  twigs  beneath  him, 
Nor  stirs  the  leaves,  scarce  more 
Than  were  he  but  a  shadow, — 
So  deathly  still  his  tread ; 
Save  when  his  war  path  leads  him 
Along  the  tumbling  stream, 


YOOXEMSKOTA. 

The  roaring  of  whose  waters 
May  drown  the  heaviest  tread, 
Then  speeds  he  boldly  forward, 
With  free  and  mighty  strides. 

There's  vengeance  in  his  purpose, 
Else  he  were  not  so  swift, 
His  eagerness  so  wolf-like, 
So  panther-like  his  step. 
There's  blood  to  drink  before  him — 
He  snuffs  it  in  the  air — 
To  reach  the  heart  that  holds  it, 
He'd  dog  the  weary  moon 
Into  the  glaring  sunlight, 
And  dr>g  the  weary  sun 
Into  the  glimmering  moonlight; 
Nor  cat,  nor  drink,  nor  sleep, 
Till  he  had  tasted  vengeance. 

The  coming  Foe  is  here — 
Ten  stalwart  Huron  warriors — 
Marching  in  Indian  file, 
All  still  as  their  own  shadows, 
When  shadows  they  needs  must  cast. 
They've  gained  the  perilous  border 
Of  this  broad  upland  glade, 
So  full  of  perilous  moonlight, 


28  SEEX    AND    HEARD. 

That  they  slink  suddenly  back, 
A  moment  to  reconnoitre, 
From  out  the  safer  shades, 
Ere  they  dare  venture  farther. 
And  well  they  may,  for  there, 
Besides  the  perilous  moonlight, 
They  spy  at  last  what  they, 
From  early  dawn  till  midnight, 
Have  scoured  the  wilds  to  find  ;- 
Beneath  a  lofty  poplar, 
The  only  tree  of  the  glade, 
They  spy  it — a  lonely  wigwam, 
The  bark  built  hunting-lodge 
Of  Shawnec  Yooneinskota. 


THE  HUNTING-LODGE. 


THE  feet  of  the  Dead,  now  by  midnight  untethercd, 
Arc  heard  on  the  Earth,  like  the  far  winds  of  autumn, 
When  silently  stealing  around  the  horizon  ; 
But  soundless  as  death  come  the  feet  of  the  living. 
Alone  in  his  lodge  the  Hcd  hunter  is  sleeping, 
His  bear  skin  for  bod,  and  for  pillow  his  quiver, 


YOOXEMSKOTA.  21, 

Ills  scalp-knife  and  liatclict  laid  naked  beside  him, 
And  scattered  around  him  tlie  trophies  of  hunting. 

Though  roamed  he  the  forest  from  sunrise  to  sunset, 
And  weary  the  sinewy  limbs  that  have  borne  him, 
The  Spirit  of  Dreaming,  with  throngs  of  wild  fancies, 
Is  busily  haunting  the  depths  of  his  slumbers. 

lie  dreams  of  the  wild  hunt,  of  fishing  and  dancing — 
Of  dancing,  by  moonlight,  around  the  red  death-stake, 
Which,  flaming  and  flaring  fur  through  the  dark  forest, 
Alarms  the  gaunt  wrolf  on  his  nightly  maraudings, 
lie  dreams  of  the  roc-buck  that  fall  by  his  arrow, 
The  big  bison-bull  that  he  chased  in, the  valley, 
The  black  bear  he  hugged  with  and  stabbed  on  the  hill-side , 
The  rattlesnake  clubbed  in  the  flame-haunted  morass. 

lie  dreams  of  the  lodge,  where  the  council-fire  blaze*, 
Where  chiefs  arc  debating  the  doom  of  the  captive, 
Where  warriors  arc  gathered  and  painted  for  battle, 
And  smoking  from  war-pipes  confusion  to  foemen. 
lie  dreams  of  the  pale  face,  the  scourge  of  his  people, 
And  fiercely  he  grapples  the  death-steel  beside  him  ; 
lie  shouts  his  shrill  war-whoop,  the  death  knell  to  foemen, 
With  life  blood  of  foemen,  his  war-path  he  reddens. 

Awake,  Yoonemskota!  the  foe -is  upon  thee  ! 
Around  thy  lone  lodge,  like  a  pantaer,  he's  creeping. 


30  SEEN    AND    HEARD. 

' '  What  noise  did  I  hear  ? : 
"  'Twas  only  the  panther,  with  soft  steps  so  stealthy ; 
Perhaps,  in  his  dingle,  a  red  deer  is  bleeding, 
And  over  his  victim  he's  purring  in  triumph." 

No,  no,  Yoonemskota!  It  is  not  the  panther, 
With  soft  steps  so  stealthy.     Thy  foe  is  upon  thcc! 
As  still  as  a  snake,  to  thy  throat  he  is  crawling  : 
Already  his  hand  has  uplifted  the  bear  skin, 
That  keeps  out  the  moonshine  and  wind  from  thy  dwelling. 

' '  I  hear  it  again !  "  says  the  slumbering  hunter, 
The  dry  leaves  disturbed  by  the  tread  of  the  night  wind, 
Or  is  it  the  tread  of  a  ghost  on  the  stillness  ?  " 

0  no,  Yoonemskota !     No  wind  is  so  noiseless, 
And.  scarcely  more  silent  the  Spirit  of  Stillness. 
Thy  bow  and  thy  arrow,  thy  scalp-knife  and  hatchet, 
Are  whetted  and  feathered  and  sinewed  for  battle  ;* 
And  stronger  thy  arm,  and  thy  spirit  the  blither, 
When  foemcn  close  round  thee,  and  friends  are  far  distant. 
Thy  foe  is  upon  thee!'    Awake,  Yoonemskota! 

The  hunter  springs  up  ;  see  him  grasp  for  his  weapons  ! 
No  weapons  are  there,  for  the  foe  has  been  cunning. 
He's  captured  and  tethered  and  dragged  from  his  wigwam. 
Alas,  Yoonemskota,  thy  dreams  have  betrayed  thee ! 


*  A  poetical  license.  By  the  middle  of  the  last  century,  a  few  years  before 
the  time  of  our  story,  the  use  of  firearms  had  grown  to  be  all  but  universal 
among  the  Indian  tribes  east  of  the  Mississippi. 


YOONEMSKOTA  31 

And  why  have  they  captured  the  brave  Yooncmskota  ? 
Why  stolen  upon  him,  when  friends  were  far  distant? 
Why  watch  him  askance,  r.s  they  would  a  wild  panther, 
And  shrink  from  the  fire  in  his  fierce  eye  with  trembling? 
The  hatchet  he  wields  is  the  highest  in  battle, 
And  truest  the  arrow  that  comes  from  his  ambush ; 
And  red  is  his  hand  with  the  blood  of  their  kindred, 
And  black  are  his  skirts  with  the  scalps  of  their  warriors. 


OVER  THE  RIVER. 


THEY  stalk,  like  spectres,  through  the  dark  wood 
Their  light  feet  scarce  disturb  the  dead  leaves, 
Or  vex  the  drowsy  ear  of  grim  night. 
The  mist  is  thinner  on  the  hill-tops, 
But  hides  the  valleys,  and  the  moonshine, 
Trembling  with  mystery,  sleep  and  wild  dreams, 
Is  glistening  on  the  mist,  like  hoar-frost. 

Thin,  ghostly  shadows  dog  their  footsteps, 
Glide  to  and  fro  upon  the  moonbeams, 
And  dodge  and  skip  among  the  green  boughs. 
No  sound  of  life  breaks  on  the  dead  hush, 
Save  when  the  ambushed  panther's  shrill  cry 


32  SEEN   AND   HEARD. 

Rings  from  the  cane-brake,  like  a  death-shriek, 
Or  distant  howling  of  the  gaunt  wolves 
Is  heard,  as  over  the  bleeding  elk-stag 
They  snap  and  snarl,  and  lick  their  red  chaps. 

Over  their  path  the  arrow-shaped  pine 
Nods  its  plumed  crest  and  waves  its  green  hair ; 
The  sycamore  upheaves  its  huge  girth, 
And  tosses,  far  and  wide,  its  white  arms; 
The  lance-like  poplar,  ash  and  red-oak 
Stand  on  the  hills,  like  giant  night-guards. 

They  file  along  the  gloom  of  deep  delves  ; 
Through  brake  and  thicket  crawl,  like  black-snakes; 
For  miles,  wade  up  and  down  the  small  stream, 
That  none  may  follow  on  their  war-path ; 
Scale  the  rude  crag,  and  drive  the  war-bird, 
Wondering  and  screaming,  from  his  strong  nest. 

At  last  they  gain  the  hill-top,  far  seen, 
Whence  they  can  spy  where  rolls  a  broad  stream, 
Too  proud  to  murmur,  through  the  green  wilds, 
Traced  by  a  winding  ridge  of  white  mist, 
Which  in  the  moonlight  gleams  like  snow-hills. 
Ohio — Eagle  River — rolls  there, 
Upon  whose  banks  a  thousand  rude  huts, 
From  brake  and  forest,  rise  like  ant-hills, 
Where  dwells  the  monarch  of  the  grass  plain, 


YOONEMSKOTA. 

The  wary  roamcr  of  the  wild  wood, 
l>old  hunter  of  the  bison  and  elk-stag, 
The  fell  foe  cf  the  bearded  pale  face. 

The  warriors  file  across  the  low  plain ; 
Towering  above  them,  like  a  tall  pitic, 
Brave  Yooncinskota  walks  with  proud  step 
Though  guarded  strongly,  and  witli  bound  hands. 
His  bright  plumes  quiver  in  the  night  breeze ; 
A  fierce  light  blazes  in  his  dark  eye, 
A  scornful  smile  lurks  round  his  stern  lips, 
Although,  before  another  sun  sets, 
His  foes,  with  hatchet,  scourge,  and  war-club, 
May  beat  him  through  the-  gauntlet's  dread  length, 
Or  drive  him,  roasting,  round  the  red  stake, 
With  live  coals  poured  upon  his  scalped  head. 

They've  gained  the  margin  of  the  broad  stream, 
Halting  a  moment  upon  the  steep  bank. 
A  long,  low  whistle  cleaves  the  still  air, 
So  low  that  quick-eared  echoes  sleep  on, 
And  only  dream  of  muffled  night  winds. 
An  answering  whistle  from  an  unseen, 
Across  the  mist-hid  river  steals,  like 
The  wandering  phantom  of  a  lost  sound ; 
For  many  braves  arc  there,  on  still  watch, 


34  SEEN   AND   HEARD. 

To  row  the  captive  over.     Ere  long, 

The  light  canoes  glide  from  the  thick  fog 

Into  the  shadow  of  the  steep  bank, 

With  spectral  silentncss,  their  bright  oars, 

Gleaming  from  far,  like  streams  of  wild-fire, 

Impart  no  sound,  but  silence  timed  out, 

That  fills  the  car  with  music,  death-like. 

They  pass  no  words,  not  even  a  mute  sign  ; 
But  bind  their  captive  in  a  light  boat, 
And  glide  again  into  the  thick  fogi? 
Through  which  the  moon  looks  down  with  dull  eye, 
Nor  in  the  water  kens  her  pale  charms. 
Their  own  bank  looms  against  the  night  sky, 
Bordered  with  woods,  as  with  a  green  fringe. 
They  shoot  with  silent  swiftness,  ghost-like, 
Into  the  frowning  shadow,  tie  fast 
Their  bark-boats  to  the  hanging  gnarled  roots, — 
And  far  from  kindred,  far  on  strange  ground, 
Brave  Yoonemskota  walks  with  fierce  foes. 


YOOXEMSKOTA.  35 


SUNRISE. 


FT1HE  caglo  from  his  crag, 
-*-    Before  the  stars  cease  twinkling. 
Screaming  and  wheeling,  soars 
Above  the  storm-cloud's  pathway, 
To  watch,  adown  the  East, 
The  young  Day's  first  bright  wakening. 
The  lone  pine,  on  the  top 
Of  yonder  far  blue  mountain, 
Is  next  to  spy  the  dawn, 
And  tell  the  signs  of  morning. 
Sullenly,  up  the  hill, 
The  winding  mist  is  climbing, 
Where,  huddled  on  the  top, 
The  wind  rends  it  in  fragments 
Which  sail  across  the  sky, 
Like  flocks  of  white  swans  flying. 
And  now  the  sun  shines  red 
On  mountain,  wood,  and  river ; 
And  from  his  flaming  eye 
The  clouds,  like  gleaming  armies, 
In  wide-spread,  loose  array, 
And  crimson  column  broken, 
Roll,  vanquished,  westward,  there 


3G  SEEN    AND    HEARD. 

To  lurk  in  airy  ambush, 
Till  their  bright  victor  pitch 
His  tent  behind  the  mountains, 
When  day,  in  turn,  will  rise 
And  triumph  over  his  setting. 

The  black  bear,  from  his  lodge 
Ogles  the  rising  morning, 
Then  rubbing,  with  hairy  paws, 
His  eyes,  he  slides  down  slowly, 
And  slowly  takes  him  off, 
To  gather,  tor  his  breakfast, 
"Wild  fruits,  or  roots,  or  fish,— 
Or,  may  be,  some  wild  honey. 
The  squirrel,  with  bushy  tail 
Curled  over  his  back  so  grandly, 
Barks  at  the  sun-blind  owl, 
With  tiny  indignation, 
As  too  near  his  own  tree 
The  day-caught  laggard  perches. 
Quietly,  a  moment,  sits 
A  panther  on  his  haunches, 
Then  screaming,  like  a  child, 
Leaps  up  into  the  tree-tops, 
Chasing,  in  savage  sport, 
Wild-cat,  raccoon,  and  squirrel. 


YOONEMSKOTA.  37 

Ere  dawn,  the  red  elk's  bones 
Lay  scattered,  white  and  fleshless, 
And  licking  their  chaps,  the  wolves 
Slink  now  to  brake  and  dingle. 

The  roe-buck,  from  his  lair, 
Uprears  his  antlered  glory; 
Eastward  and  westward  turns 
His  bright  eyes,  mutely  thanking, 
Then,  driving  the  dew  before 
Him,  ambles  to  his  pasture. 
The  bison  herds  upheave 
Their  huge  bulks  from  the  green  sward, 
Shake  from  their  shaggy  manes 
The  dew,  and  darkly  huddling, 
Roll  bellowing  over  the  plain, 
Like  shadows  of  clouds  at  noon-day, 
To  graze  till  sunset,  round 
The  hunter-haunted  salt-lick. 

The  blue  smoke  upward  curls, 
Till,  widening  in  the  thin  air 
Its  long  and  slender  shaft 
Points,  like  a  feathered  arrow, 
Down  to  the  wigwam,  where, 
On  bison-rug  and  bear-skin, 
The  painted  brave  has  lain 


38  SEEN   AND    HEARD. 

In  battle-dreaming  slumber. 

The  Red  man  eastward  looks, 
Watching  upon  the  mountains. 
At  first  he  sees  the  gray, 
And  then  the  deep  vermilion, 
Washing  in  blood  the  hills, 
That  tell  the  young  day's  coming. 

To  him,  Wahcondah's  eye 
Looks  from  the  sun  in  brightness ; 
His  solemn  whisper  breathes 
The  tuneful  winds  of  morning ; 
His  voice  of  anger  waits 
The  tempest-blast  of  midnight ; 
Earth  trembles,  as  he  walks 
In  thunder  over  the  mountains, — 
His  mighty  foot-prints  left 
In  valley,  lake,  and  river. 

The  red  man  bows  in  awe—- 
His great  heart  mutely  worships  ;— 

"  His  will  be  done  !  "  he  says — 
The  red  man  always  says  it — 

"  Even  the  Great  Spirit's  will, 
The  will  of  great  Wahcondah ! " 


YOONE.MSKOTA.  39 


THE  COUNCIL-LODGE. 


T)UT  where's  Yoonemskota,  the  proud  and  the  daring, 
*-*  The  foremost  in  council,  the  foremost  in  battle? 
Who  plays,  like  a  buck,  when  the  peace  pipe  is  smoking, 
Who  prowls,  like  a  panther,  when  warfare  is  raging ; 
Whose  hatchet  is  ever  the  highest  in  battle, 
Whose  arrow  the  truest  in  hunt  or  still  ambush ; 
Whose  war-path  the  reddest,  and  peace-path  the  whitest, 
Whose  war-song  the  fiercest,  and  love-song  the  gentlest. 

The  Shawanee  maiden,  with  hair  black  as  midnight,* 
And  eyes  like  a  young  doe,  as  oft  look  behind  her, 
As  homeward  she  hies,  with  her  pet  fawn  beside  her, 
From  gathering  wild  flowers  on  the  azure-bound  prairie, 
To  watch  Yoonemskota,  the  proud  and  the  daring, 
As  through  the  wild  woods  with  large  strides  he  goes  stalking, 
To  hug  with  the  black  bear,  or  chase  the  big  bison, 
Or  challenge  the  panther  to  leap  from  his  tree-top ; 
Or,  haply,  all  brave  with  his  war-paint  and  plumage, 
And  bristling  with  weapons,  abroad  on  his  war-path. 

Then,  turned  again  homeward,  the  maiden  goes  sighing : 
"  Ah,  happy  the  one  who  shall  dwell  in  the  wigwam, 


*  This  name,  though  commonly  spelled  Shawnee,  is  often  spelled  Shawa- 
nee, and,  not  unfrequently,  Shaicanccse. 


40  SEEN   AND   HEARD. 

And  dwell  in  the  heart  of  the  brave  Yooneuiskota ! 
To  keep  his  fire  burning,  and  smoking  his  kettle 
With  maize  of  her  tending,  or  game  of  his  hunting ; 
To  quill  his  gay  moccasin,  wampum  his  war-belt, 
And  welcome  him  home  from  the  chase  or  red  war-path, 
With  good  cheer  and  fire-light,  and  smoke  of  siamo." 

The  council-fire  burns  in  the  lodge  of  the  village, 
And  round  it,  on  bear-skins,  the  warriors  are  sitting ; 
They  hold  a  stern  silence,  for  dark  thoughts  are  brewing; — 
No  wrangling  is  there,  like  the  pale  face,  in  big  talk ; 
Naught  passes  their  lips,  but  the  smoke  of  tobacco — 
The  smoke  of  siamo  from  war-pipes  up-curling. 

And  in  their  grim  midst,  sits  a  Shawanee  captive — 
Sits  smoking  his  war-pipe  in  silent  defiance, 
Sent  up  in  the  dark-rolling  clouds  round  his  scalp-lock — 
His  scalp-lock,  all  brave  with  the  plumes  of  the  eagle. 
He  looks  through  the  door-way,  he  looks  not  around  him — 
His  calm  eye  is  fixed  on  the  blue  sky  before  him. 
And  there's  Yoonemskota,  the  proud  and  the  daring ; — 
To-night  he  must  burn,  or  make  peace  with  his  captors. 

They  hold  a  stern  silence,  and  watch  the  pine's  shadow, 
That  sluggishly  creeps  toward  the  council-house  door-way ; 
They  watch  the  red  sun,  as  he  climbs  the  steep  heavens, 
Till,  from  the  sky's  centre,  he  hangs  without  motion, 


YOONEMSKOTA.  41 

Till  stands  without  motion  the  slow-creeping  shadow, 
And,  dial-like,  points  to  the  time  when  their  chieftain, 
The  stern  Hworaminta,  shall  open  the  council : 
And  thus  the  oration  of  stern  Hworaminta.* 


SPEECH  OF  HWORAMINTA. 


TT  was  night.      Yoonemskota 
J-  Lay  asleep  in  his  wigwam, 
Far  away  from  his  border  — 
Far  away  from  our  border, 
In  the  woods  of  Ken'tuck'ee  — 
Land  of  Ground-dar-k-and-bloody. 
Close  at  hand  lay  his  weapons, 
All  unsheathed  as  for  battle  ; 
But  our  braves  stole  upon  him  — 
Round  his  lodge  stole  like  panthers; 
Nor  awoke  Yoonemskota, 
For  his  sleep  was  the  slumber 
Of  the  soul  that  is  roaming 
Far  away  from  its  dwelling. 
Sly  as  snakes,  crept  our  warriors 


'  T>e  Wyandot  for  gun. 

4* 


42  SEEN   AND   HEARD. 

Through  the  door  of  his  wigwam ; 
Heard  the  Dream-Spirit  mock  him — 
Heard  him  talk  in  his  slumbers ; 
From  him  took  all  his  weapons, 
And  his  soul  was  belated. 
He  was  strong  and  resisted, 
But  our  braves  were  too  many ; 
And  at  last  overpowered  him, 
Bound  him  fast,  and  in  triumph 
Dragged  him  forth  from  his  dwelling, 
As  they  would  drowsy  Mug  wall* 
From  his  den  in  the  hill-side. 

"Warriors,  listen ! 
Deadliest  foe  of  the  Huron 
Is  the  great  chief,  our  captive — 
Shawanee  Yoonemskota ; — 
Red  his  hands,  red  his  war-path, 
With  the  blood  of  our  people  ! 

Listen !    That  blood  cries  for  vengeance ! 
Cries  from  bare  wastes  that  once  were 
Fruitful  fields  round  our  dwellings — 
Fruitful,  till  fierce  Yoonemskota, 
Like  a  storm,  fell  upon  them, 
And  our  wives  and  our  children 

*The  Shawanee  for  bear. 


YOONEMSKOTA.  43 

Pine  for  bread  in  the  winter ! 
Cries  from  black  heaps  that  once  were 
Pleasant  camps  in  the  forest, 
Pleasant  towns  by  the  river — 
Pleasant,  till  fierce  Yoonemskota 
Threw  the  fire-brand  among  them ! 
Cries  from  war-plain  and  ambush, 
Where  in  blood  sleep  our  proudest — 
Proudest,  till  proud  Yoonemskota 
Laid  them  low  in  his  fierceness ! 


"  Shall  that  cry  now  be  answered  ? 
Shall  we  now  render  vengeance  ? 
Warriors,  listen  !     Be  silent, 
Till  the  chief  Yoonemskota 
To  our  words  shall  make  answer : 
He  has  heard  llworaminta." 

But  proud  Yoonemskota  sits  smoking  in  silence ; 

He  turns  not  his  eyes  from  the  blue  sky  before  him, — 

He  looks  through  the  door-way,  he  looks  not  around  him  ;- 

Too  proud,  he,  to  answer — he  smokes  on  in  silence. 

And  so  smoke  they  all,  for  a  time,  in  the  council, 

With  Indian  decorum,  awaiting  his  answer; 

Xo  wrangling  is  there,  like  the  palo  face  in  big  talk — 


44  SEEN    AND    HEARD. 

Naught  passing  their  lips  but  the  smoke  of  tobacco — 
The  smoke  of  siamo  from  war -pipes  up  curling — 
Till  Black- Wolf  stands  up,  and  with  red-rolling  eye-balls, 
Askance  on  the  captive,  begins  his  oration. 


SPEECH  OF  BLACK-WOLF. 


' and  Heads  of  our  Totems> 

Scarce  twenty  moons  have  whitened 
The  gray  rock  on  yonder  mountain, 
Since  the  Wyandots  and  Shawnees 
Met  on  the  dark  and  bloody  ground, 
And  had  that  terrible  battle. 
Green  grows  the  grass  there  now, 
From  soil  made  fat  with  our  blood, 
Which  that  day  ran  in  rivers. 
But  the  hand  of  the  frost  was  mighty  then, 
And  his  breath  had  left  the  ambush  thin, 
The  long  grass  yellow  and  withered. 
The  black  blast  howled  through  the  naked  woods, 
Filling  them  with  noises,  like  death-sounds; 
And  the  hills  were  covered  with  snow, 


YOOXEMSKOTA.  45 

As  if  a  white  sky  had  fallen  upon  them. 

Struck  by  an  arrow,  the  truest  in  battle, 

Wounded,  I  lay  among  the  bushes. 

Struck  down  by  a  hatchet,  the  highest  in  battle, 

Near  me,  my  aged  father  fell, 

Like  the  hoary  oak  of  the  mountain 

Struck  down  by  the  hand  of  the  tempest, 

And  I,  without  strength  to  save  I 

My  three  brothers,  shoulder  to  shoulder, 

Strove  hard  to  save  his  gray  scalp ; 

But  they,  too,  fell,  one  after  one, 

Across  his  body,  cut  down  like  saplings ; 

The  warm  life  stream  from  four  kindred  hearts 

Reddening  and  melting  the  trodden  snow  : 

A  hatchet,  the  highest  in  battle, 

Went  down  to  the  helve  in  their  skulls, 

And  drank  its  glut  of  vengeance — 

And  I  without  strength  to  avenge ! 

I  saw  the  gray  scalp  of  my  father, 
And  the  black  scalps  of  my  brothers, 
Hang  reeking  from  the  war-belt 
Of  the  terrible  Yoonemskota — 
And  I,  without  strength  to  avenge  ! 
I  could  tear  out  his  heart 
And  drink  his  life-blood,  the  only  draught 
That  can  appease  my  thirst  for  vengeance." 


46  SEEN    AND    HEARD. 

"Down,  Black-Wolf! "  cries  stern  Hworaminta,  their  chief- 
tain, 

In  tones  like  a  far-reaching  whisper  of  thunder. 
"  Such  howling  befits  not  the  council  of  warriors. 
Let  warriors  be  silent  and  hear  Yoonemskota." 

Still  proud  Yoonemskota  sits  smoking  in  silence ; 
He  turned  not  his  eyes  from  the  blue  sky  before  him, — 
He  looks  through  the  door-way,  he  looks  not  around  him  ;^ 
Too  proud,  he,  to  answer — he  smokes  on  in  silence. 
So  smoke  they  all,  for  a  time,  in  the  council, 
With  Indian  decorum,  awaiting  his  answer; 
No  wrangling  is  there,  like  the  pale  face  in  big  talk ; — 
Naught  passes  their  lips  but  the  smoke  of  tobacco — 
The  smoke  of  siamo  from  war-pipes  up-curling. 

The  warrior  sits  mute — mute  as  hills  without  echoes 
To  send  back  the  voice  of  the  far-whispered  thunder ; 
Till  noble  Oheno,  a  warrior  gigantic, 
Uplifting  his  plumed  head  high  over  the  council, 
Lays  by  his  long  war-pipe,  his  bear-robe  and  weapons, 
That  he  may  be  free  to  harangue  in  the  big  talk. 
And  thus,  in  a  voice  like  the  low,  heavy  mutter 
Of  thunder  at  night,  when  it  speaks  to  the  mountains, 
Begins  his  oration — the  noble  Oheno. 


YOOXEMSKOTA.  47 


SPEECH  OF  OHENO. 


"WAKRIORS>  Yooncmskota  is  a  great  war-chief, 
*  '     And  red  his  hands  with  the  blood  of  our  best  braves- 
Ked,  only,  as  beseems  a  war-chief. 
Is  not  Oheno's  hand  red  ? 
Brave  Hworaminta's  hand  red  ? 
Red  the  hand  of  every  brave  here 
With  best  blood  of  the  great  Shawanee  '< 

Though  Yoonemskota's  tomahawk 
Be  the  highest  and  reddest  on  the  war-plain, 
The  scalps  of  women  and  babes  and  gray  old  men 
Have  never  hung  reeking  at  his  war-belt ; 
None  but  the  scalps  of  braves,  with  armed  hands, 
Have  ever  dried  in  the  smoke  of  his  wigwam. 
What  brave  in  the  lodge  can  say  this 
For  the  honor  of  his  own  name? 

When  the  nations  arc  smoking  the  war-pipe, 
Yoonemskota's  name  is  on  the  war-plain. 
And  red  and  smoking  is  his  war-path. 
But  when  the  nations  are  smoking  the  peace-pipe, 
Who  sits  at  home  in  the  door  of  his  wigwam, 
Quiet  as  a  tame  bear  ?     Yooncmskota  ! 
Who  walks  the  peace-path  with  gray  old  men. 
Gentle  as  a  young  maiden  ?     Yooncmskota  ! 


48  SEEN    AND    HEARD. 

Who  skips,  with  children,  upon  the  hill- tops, 
Playful  as  a  young  buck?  Yoonemskota! — 
Yoonemskota,  the  Shawanee  war-chief! 

"  Warriors,  never  since  the  rough  old  oaks 
Were  young  and  smooth  upon  the  hill-sides, 
Have  the  Wyandots  and  Shawanees  seen 
Each  other's  faces  for  the  war-paint ; 
Struck  hands  without  the  hatchet  and  war-club, 
Or  sought  each  other  but  on  the  war-path.* 
This  hatred  was  left  us  by  our  forefathers 
As  a  portion  of  our  inheritance ; 
We  have  cherished  it  as  our  chief  joy. 
Fed  upon  it  as  our  choice  food ; 

Till,  thinned  by  the  arrow  and  bullet,  and  hewn  down 
By  the  hatchet,  we  are  but  the  bare  name, 
The  noon-day  shadow  of  what  we  once  were. 
Behold  the  sad  remnant,  brave  Wyandots ! 
And  behold  ye,  likewise,  brave  Shawanees! 
And  let  pity  quench  your  fierce  hatred  ! 

Warriors,  listen,  and  hear  a  strange  thing ! 
Last  night,  chance  led  me  across  the  war-plain 
Where  the  Shawanees  and  Wyandots  met  once — 


*  Though  applicable  to  many  Indian  tribes,  this  can  hardly  be  said  of  the 
Wyandots  and  Shawanees;  the  former  migrating  to  the  Ohio  Valley  from 
beyond  the  Northern  lakes,  after  the  settlement  of  Canada  by  the  French, 
and  the  Shawanees,  at  a  still  more  recent  period,  from  the  shores  of  the 
Gulf  of  Mexico. 


YOONEMSKOTA.  49 

A  spot  the  moon  looks  down  upon  with  sad  eye. 
Something  that  was  not  whirring  night  wind, 
Nor  whirring  night  bird,  stirred  the  still  air. 
Then  heard  I  the  voice  of  those  that  were  slain  there 
Cry  mournfully  out  from  the  green  graves : 
Bury  the  tomahawk  !     Bury  the  tomahawk  I ' 

I  heard  also  the  voice  of  the  Great  Spirit, 
Dropping  from  the  upper  sky,  saying: 
(And  the  old  woods  shook,  though  not  a  breeze  blew,) 
Oheno,  stand  thou  there  among  the  green  mounds 
Till  thou  hast  heard  the  words  ! — words  of  Wahcondah  ! 
I  have  spoken  to  the  tribes  of  red  men, 
Gently  with  my  winged  west-wind  whisper, 
Bidding  you  come  and  smoke  the  peace-pipe 
Before  me,  as  the  sons  of  one  sire : 
But  to  my  gentle  voice  ye  turned  a  deaf  car. 
Then,  with  my  voice  of  many-tongued  thunders, 
I  spoke,  even  till  the  proudest  hills  shook, — 
But,  said  ye,  it  is  but  the  storm  mumbling. 
To-morrow  the  Shawanee  war-chief 
Shall  sit  in  your  council-lodge,  captive. 
Ofier  him  and  his  people  the  peace-pipe, 
And  if  its  smoke  thereof  ascend  to  my  nostrils, 
I  will  smile  once  more  upon  my  red  children. 
Let  my  words  go  unheeded,  and  the  black  night 
Of  desolation  shall  thicken  around  vou  forever  ! ' 


50  SEEN    AND    HEARD. 

Oheno  has  hearkened  to  Wahcondah : 
Will  Yoonemskota  hearken  to  Oheno  ? 
Will  he  not  smoke  with  us  the  peace-pipe, 
And,  in  friendship,  take  the  hand  of  Oheno? 
A  hand  it  is  that  never  knew  failure, 
Whether  for  friend  or  foe.     Let  braves  listen, 
And  hear  what  answer  Yoonemskota 
Shall  give  the  counsel  of  Oheno." 

And  now  Yoonemskota  quits  smoking  so  proudly, 
Yet  turns  not  his  eyes  from  the  blue  sky  before  him ; 
Less  stern  is  his  brow,  and  his  dai-k  eye  less  burning, 
Less  lofty  his  port,  and  he  smokes  not  so  proudly. 
For  over  his  brow  steal  the  shadows  of  memory, 
Like  summer  clouds  shading  the  brow  of  a  mountain ; 
And  into  his  eye,  like  the  fire  gleams  of  sunrise, 
The  light  of  the  love  that  is  shining  through  sorrow. 
Perhaps  he's  reminded  of  brothers  now  sleeping 
The  sleep  of  the  brave  on  the  field  of  the  triumph. 
Or  does  he  remember  his  uesolate  hamlets, 
Where  sages  once  sat  in  the  council-house  door-way, 
Reminding  young  warriors  of  Shawanee  glory  ? 
Where  raven-haired  maidens  once  strung  the  bright  wampum, 
And  quilled  the  gay  moccasin  for  their  wild  lovers ; 
Or,  braiding  their  tresses,  they  hied  forth  to  meet  them, 
As  homeward  they  filed  from  the  hunt  or  red  war-path : 


YOOXEMSKOTA.  51 

Where  mothers  their  little  ones  lulled,  swinging,  swinging 
In  cradles  suspended  from  forest-tree  branches ; 
While  sister  whooped  merrily  up  to  it,  singing — • 
"  Swing,  pretty  one,  swing  !     Thy  mother  and  sister 
Are  caring  for  thec.     Swing,  pretty  one,  swing  !  "  * 

Sweet  scenes  that  the  brand  of  the  Wyandot  blasted  I 
Sweet  music  the  yell  of  the  Wyandot  silenced  ! 
The  shadows  of  memory  are  gone,  like  the  shadows- 
Of  summer  clouds,  blown  from  the  brow  of  a  mountain : 
His  brows  again  stern  and  his  dark  eye  again  burning, 
He  turns  not  his  eyes  from  the  blue  sky  before  him  ; 
He  looks  through  the  door-way,  he  looks  not  around  him ; 
He  makes  them  no  answer,  but  smokes  on  in  silence. 
And  so  smoke  they  all,  for  a  time,  in  the  council, 
With  Indian  decorum,  awaiting  his  answer. 
No  wrangling  is  there  like  the  pale  face  in  big  talk ; 
Naught  passing  their  lips  but  the  smoke  of  tobacco — 
The  smoke  of  stamo  from  war-pipes  up-curling — 
Till  stern  Hworaminta,  with  aspect  less  rigid, 
Again  breaks  his  mind  ;  and  with  peace  for  its  burden, 
This  second  oration  of  brave  Hworaminta. 

*  -—Swing,  pretty  one,  swing.    Schoolcraft,  Xorth  American  Indians. 


52  SEEN   AND   HEARD. 

SECOND  SPEECH  OF  HWORAMINTA. 


TTTAIIIIIORS, 
"  '     Ye  Lave  heard  what  Oheno 
Has  declared  in  the  council : 
It  is  good.     Let  us  hearken 
To  the  words  of  Oheno. 

For  unknown  generations, 
Since  the  years  lost  to  memory, 
Have  the  Shawnee  and  Huron* 
Been  at  strife  with  each  other, 
And  the  war-pipe  been  smoking — 
Smoking  death  to  each  other ; 
And  the  war-whoop  been  sounding- 
Sounding  death  to  each  other. 

Death .'     Death  ! 
We  have  fought  with  each  other 
On  the  fair,  open  prairie ; 
Lain  in  wait  for  each  other 
In  the  lurks  of  the  forest, — 
All  the  time,  blood  and  vengeance. 

Blood  and  vengeance ! 
We  have  crept  on  each  other 
Where  we  camped  in  the  forest, 


'The  original  name  of  the  Wysndot  tribe. 


YOOXEMSKOTA.  53 

Where  we  dwelt  by  the  river ; 
When  we  slept,  when  we  hunted, 
When  we  mourned,  when  we  feasted; 
When  our  fields  were  in  tassel, 
When  our  fields  were  in  yellow; — 
All  the  time,  fire  and  ruin, 
Fire  and  ruin ! 

' '  We  have  fallen  under  the  hatchet 
Like  the  trees  of  the  forest 
Under  the  axe  of  the  white  man. 
At  the  hiss  of  the  arrow 
And  the  whiz  of  the  bullet, 
We  have  sunk,  torn  and  mangled, 
Like  the  green  corn  of  Summer 
When  the  clouds  hail  upon  it. 

But  the  Great  Spirit's  anger, 
At  the  sight  of  our  warring, 
Has  at  last  kindled  fiercely, 
And  we  melt  from  before  it 
Like  the  hoar-frost  of  Spring-time 
When  the  sun  flames  upon  it. 
At  his  blast  of  destruction. 
We  had  dropped,  seared  and  withered, 
Like  the  nipped  leaves  of  Autumn 
When  the  wings  of  the  North  wind 


54  SEEN    AND    IIEAED. 

Beat  the  heads  of  the  forest. 

Ye  have  heard  how  Wahcondah, 
In  the  night,  warned  Oheno, 
And  through  him  all  the  nations 
Of  the  Red  race,  to  hasten, 
And,  as  friends,  meet  together — • 
Smoke  the  peace-pipe  before  him. 
It  is  well:   we  must  hearken, 
And  be  warned.     Let  Wahcondah 
Rule.     Rule,  Great  Wahcondah  !  * 

"Warriors,  listen! 
In  the  East,  strong  and  shining, 
There  a  light  has  arisen, 
And  we  shrink  from  before  it 
Like  the  small  stars,  the  twinklers, 
When  the  great  sun  is  coming : — 
That  light  is  the  pale-face. 

Tie  is  even  now  upon  us, 
On  this  side  Alleghany, 
With  his  long  knife  and  rifle, 
With  his  bright  plough  and  sharp  axe. 
Hark  !     His  sharp  axe  is  ringing 


*  This,  though  the  name  given  the  Good  God,  or  Great  Spirit  by  several 
Korthwestern  tribes,  is  neither  Wyandot  nor  Shawanee.  The  Wyandot  for 
Great  Spirit  is  lamaindezue;  the  Shawanee,  mishcmcneloe. 


YOOXEMSKOTA.  55 

In  the  woods  which  Wahcondah 

Long  ago  gave  our  fathers. 
Look  !     His  bright  plough  is  passing 
Over  the  graves  where  our  fathers 
Sleep  the  sleep  of  the  honored. 
At  the  voice  of  his  rifle, 
Thunder-struck,  we  arc  falling. 
At  the  flash  of  his  long  knife, 
Lightning-struck,  we  are  withering. 

We  have  said  to  the  stranger  : 
Go  away,  we  conjure  you, 
From  the  land  of  our  fathers. 
Great  your  strength,  great  your  cunning — 
They  are  too  great  for  red  man ! 
Great  your  land,  great  your  riches — • 
They  are  too  great  for  white  man 
Thus  to  come  over  the  mountains 
To  despoil  and  destroy  us, 
Who  aro  poor,  weak  and  simple.' 

Then  he  shakes  hands  with  red  man — 
First  this  tribe,  then  the  other — 
Shawance,  Huron,  Mingo ; 
Calls  us  friend — -Indian  Irothcr  ; 
Gives  us  guns,  knives  and  hatchets; 
Gives  us  tooatsccicic,* 


'The  WyanJot  for  rum,  or  fire-water. 


56  SEEX    AND    HEARD. 

When  we  lose  sense  and  wisdom, 
•And,  like  wolves  gone  all  rabid, 
Fall  in  rage  on  each  other — 
Shooting,  cutting  and  splitting — 
With  the  arms  he  has  given  us ; 
At  his  will,  more  blood  running — 
Red  man's  blood,  shed  by  red  man- 
Then  when  clubs,  black  stone  hatchets, 
Arrows  and  bows,  were  our  weapons, 
And  the  blood,  hot  from  fierce  hearts, 
All  we  drank  for  fire-water. 

Why  all  this?     Warriors,  listen! 
That  the  tribes  of  the  red  race 
May  destroy  one  another, 
Root  and  branch,  from  the  green  earth 
And  their  land  leave  to  white  man. 
Great  his  strength,  great  his  cunning  ! 
Too  great !     Too  great  for  red  than  ! 

"  Ilurons,  hear  Ilworaminta  ! 
Shawnccs,  hear  Ilworaminta ! 
Chippewas,  Mingos,  Mohawks — 
All,  hear  Ilworaminta! 
We  join  tribes  and  kindred, 
We  must  join  hearts  and  weapons, 
And  beat  back,  over  the  mountains, 


YOOXEMSKOTA.  57 

Whence  he  came,  this  dread  stranger. 

If  he  comes,  we  must  vanish  ; 

If  he  stays,  we  must  perish. 

Great  his  strength,  great  his  cunning! 

Too  great !     Too  great  for  red  man  ! 

Join,  red  brothers,  joinr 
Brave  and  wise  of  the  Huron, 
Give  your  ears  to  the  answer 
Of  the  chief,  Yoonemskota, 
To  the  chief,  Hworaminta." 

Again  Yoonemskota  quits  smoking  so  proudly, 
Yet  turns  not  his  eyes  from  the  blue  sky  before  him ; 
He  looks  through  the  door-way,  he  looks  not  around  him ; 
He  answers  them  not ;  yet  he  smokes  not  so  fiercely. 
Less  fiercely  are  all  in  the  council  now  smoking, 
Nor  fiercely  at  all,  but  for  thoughts  of  the  stranger. 
No  wrangling  is  there  like  the  pale  face  in  big  talk  ; 
Naught  passes  their  lips  but  the  smoke  of  tobacco — 
The  smoke  of  siamo  from  calumets  rolling ; 
Till  Snake-Eye  stands  up  to  harangue  in  the  council, — 
His  smiling  face  sleek  as  the  skin  of  a  serpent, 
His  supple  tongue  forked  with  flattery  and  venom ; 
And  eyeing  the  captive  as  snake  eyeth  eagle, 
Thus  Snake-Eye  begins  his  smooth-running  oration. 


58  SEEX    AND    HEARD. 

SPEECH  OF  SNAKE-EYE. 


hawanee  believe  it? 
Will  the  Chippewas  believe  it? 
Can  the  Hurons  scarce  believe  it  ? 
That  the  terror  of  the  nations — 
Yoonemskota — is  our  captive  ? 
Are  the  braves  who  made  him  captive 
Proud  of  their  exploit  ?     They  must  be  : 
For,  in  open  battle,  who  stands 
Face  to  face  with  Yoonemskota  ? 
Who  shows  finger,  foot  or  feather, 
When  he's  lurking  near  in  ambush  ? 
Had  not  sleep  first  made  him  captive, 
Think  ye,  he  had  been  our  captive? 
Yoonemskota  been  our  captive  ? 
Never  !     Sooner  had  ten  Hurons 
Bitten  the  dust  and  gone  to  sleep  in  blood ! 

"  Yoonemskota,  to  our  people, 
Long  has  been  a  name  of  terror ; 
For  his  hand  of  fire  has  touched  us, 
And  our  land,  from  border  to  border. 
Blazed.     For  in  the  thickest  of  battle, 
Glancing  like  the  fiamc-cycd  lightning 


YUUNEMSKOTA.  59 

Ever  is  seen  his  terrible  hatchet, 
Cleaving,  levelling  all  before  it. 
For  the  war-whoop  that  he  sends  up 
Ever  is  answered  with  a  death-yell ; 
Till  Shaicanee  and  Yoonemskota 
Have  been  coupled  with  each  other 
As  one  in  terror  to  the  nations. 

"  Warriors,   war-chief  Ilworaminta, 
When  he  first  spake  in  the  council, 
Talked  of  vengeance  on  our  captive. 
True  it  is  that  Yoonemskota 
Well  deserves  to  bide  our  vengeance. 
T3ut,  braves,  listen  !     Listen,  sages  ! 
Yoonemskota's  people  love  him — 
Love  him  as  their  greatest  leader, 
Love  him  as  their  greatest  glory : 
Burn  their  leader,  burn  their  glory — 
Yoonemskota — at  the  death-stake ; 
And  that  love  shall  come  upon  us, 
Burning,  wasting,  bloody  hatred, 
Which,  like  fire  that  sweeps  the  prairie, 
Never  stayed  till  rivers  quench  it — 
Never  can  be  stayed  till  rivers 
Of  Wyandot  blood  shall  quench  it. 
Then,  beware  of  Shawauee  vengeance ! 


60  SEEN    AND    HEARD. 

Brave  as  we  are  they,  and  stronger ; 
Stronger  still  they'll  be,  and  fiercer, 
If  their  chieftain  feel  our  vengeance — 
If  we  death-stake  Yoonemskota. 
Wyandots,  beware ! 

"  Hworaminta  and  Oheno 
Words  have  spoken  in  the  council 
Favoring  peace — words  full  of  wisdom 
Has  brave  Yoonemskota  heard  them? 
He  has  been  our  foe,  the  fiercest 
Ever  known  to  the  Huron  totems 
Will  he  not  now  be  our  brother  ? 
Smoke  the  peace-pipe?  bury  the  hatchet? 
We  will  meet  him  with  our  warriors, — 
Him,  and  all  the  chiefs  and  warriors 
Of  the  mighty  Shawnee  nation, 
On  the  other  side  Ohio, 
In  the  tall  woods  of  Caintuckee — 
Neutral  ground  to  tribes  of  red  men — 
Crossing  in  a  thousand  canoes. 

Thero  we  sit  beneath  the  great  oak, 
Where  we  fought  that  terrible  battle, 
And  the  peace-smoke  from  the  white  pipe 
Shall  go  up  and  hover  above  us, 
Like  the  good-will  of  Wahcondah  ; 


YOOXEMSKOTA.  61 

Gathering  up  all  thoughts  of  hatred 
From  our  hearts  into  its  sweet  breath, 
That  the  morning  winds  may  blow  them 
Far  beyond  the  Land  of  Sunset — 
Scattered  and  lost  in  the  Night  of  the  Wicked. 

"  War-chief  Yoonemskota  hears  us? 
Will  he  go  and  bring  the  Shawnee 
To  a  peace-talk  with  the  Huron  ? 
Heeded  our  words — brave  Yoonemskota 

Lives ! 
Scorned  our  words — proud  Yoonemskota 

Dies!" 

And  now  Yoonemskota  quits  smoking  his  war -pipe, 
Uprears  from  his  bear-skin,  and  fixes  on  Snake-Eye 
A  look  of  fierce  scorn.     Then,  more  calmly  surveying 
Each  brave  of  the  council,  begins  his  oration 
In  tones  like  the  rolling  of  far-distant  thunder, 
That  shakes  the  firm  hills  ere  it  bursts  on  the  valley. 


SEEN   AND   HEARD. 


SPEECH  OF  YOONEMSKOTA. 


"W 


YANDOTS, 

Ye  have  given  Yoonemskota 
Leave  to  speak  in  your  council. 
Not  the  \vont  of  the  red  man 
So  to  deal  with  his  captive  ; 
But,  no  doubt,  good  your  reasons, 
Great  your  cause  for  so  doing. 

"  Let  me  first  answer  Snake-Eye, 
And  bequit  of  him  quickly, 
For  a  vile  reptile  is  he : 
In  the  light,  smooth  and  smiling  ; 
In  the  dark,  spitting  poison  ; 
Through  the  grass  slipping  slyly, 
Biting  the  heels  of  the  heedless : — 
Clubs  for  such CLUBS  ! 

He  has  said  to  your  captive, 
Bring  your  chiefs — bring  your  warriors 
To  the  woods  of  Caintuckee ; 
Let  our  tribes  meet  together, 
And  on  ground  that  is  neutral, 
Smoke  the  white  pipe  of  friendship. 
Bring — and  live,  Yoonemskota  1 


YOONEMSKOTA.  63 

Smoke — or  burn,  Yoonemskota! ' 

He  would  come— would  this  Snake-Eye ! 

Smoke  and  smile — shake  the  hand  of 

Brotherhood;  then  in  signal 

To  his  clan  there  in  ambush, 

Drop  the  pipe — even  the  white  pipo — 

And  the  blue  smoke  of  friendship 

Would  go  up,  poisoned,  stifled, 

By  the  black  smoke  of  treachery, 
Favor  this — '  Yoonemskota 

Lives  : ' — the  LIFE  of  a  traitor! 

Favor  not — '  Yoonemskota 

Dies : ' — the  DEATH  of  a  warrior ! 

"  I  have  heard  brave  Oheno — 
Bravest  foe  of  the  Shawnee. 
He  once  made  Yoonemskota 
Bite  the  dust ;  but  he  spared  me — 
Spared  and  beat  back  his  warriors, 
As  they  closed  thick  around  me, 
With  their  steel  flashing  vengeance. 
Why  he  spared  1'oonemskota, 
Know  I  not, — only  wonder. 
He  has  said  to  your  captive, 
'Let  us  shake  hands  as  brothers:' 
Had  they  met,  armed  and  painted, 


64  SEEN   AND   HEARD. 

Face  to  face,  on  the  war-path, 
And  the  brave  Huron  offered 
There  his  hand,  Yoonemskota 
Had  been  glad  then  to  take  it, 
And  had  said,  '  brave  Oheno, 
We  are  friends !  we  are  brothers.' 
But  the  hand  of  the  captive, 
And  the  hand  of  the  captor 
May  not  grasp  one  another, 
With  the  free  grasp  of  friendship. 

"  To  the  howl,  raised  by  Black  Wolf, 
In  the  ears  of  the  council, 
Shall  a  war-chief  deign  to  answer  ? 
With  my  ears  shut,  I  heard  it ; 
With  my  lips  shut,  I  answer. 
Let  the  wolf  lap  his  fill. 

"I  have  heard  Hworaminta, 
First,  and  last,  pleading  vengeance 
First,  and  peace,  last ;  but  ever, 
As  a  great  sachem,  mindful 
Of  the  welfare  and  honor 
Of  his  tribe.     Such  be  honored ! 
Let  the  chief  Yoonemskota 
Give  the  chief  Hworaminta 
Honor ! 


YOOXEM3KOTA.  65 


"But,  Ilurons,  listen! 
Can  the  chief  of  the  Shawncc 
Give  the  right  hand  to  foemcn, 
With  their  bonds  still  upon  it  ? 
Light  the  peace-pipe  with  foemcn, 
Lest  his  death-pile  be  lighted? 
Let  him  stoop  thus  for  mercy, 
And  shall  both  friend  and  foeman 
Hoot  at  big  Yooneraskota 
As  a  wolf.      Savage  fighter 
Until  caught,  when  he  crouches 
At  the  feet  of  the  hunter, 
With  no  more  spirit  in  him 
Than  a  tame  dog  when  beaten. 

Let  the  hands  of  your  captive 
Wear  their  bonds  all  unslackened, 
Till  his  own  strength  and  cunning 
Shall  in  twain  break  asunder, 
Or  the  red  stake  divide  them. 
But  his  free  spirit  leave  him ; 
Let  that  go  all  untrammelled, 
As  the  wild  horse  unbridled, 
And  abroad  on  his  prairie ; 
As  the  war-bird  untethered, 
And  aloft  'mid  his  mountains. 


SEES    AND    HEARD. 

"  Wyandots,  since  ye  bid  me 
Speak,  hear  then  my  counsel : 
And  there  be  Mingos  here,  and 
Chippewas — friends,  no  less,  to 
Shawanec  than  to  Huron — 
Who  can  bear  faithful  witness 
To  words  I  shall  utter- 
Words  I  have  uttered.     Listen! 

When  yc'vc  sent  Yoonemskota, 
Through  the  fires  of  the  death-stake, 
To  the  Sun-land  of  Spirits, 
Go,  with  speed,  to  his  people — 
Go,  and  take  them  his  ashes, 
Ere  the  winds  do  it  for  you, 
And  return,  howling  vengeance! 
Go,  and  say  to  his  people, 
Here,  behold  in  these  ashes 
All  that's  left  of  your  chieftain, 
Save  the  great  name  he  leaves  you — 
Name  of  great  Yoonemskota! 
More  than's  left  to  our  children 
Of  the  hatred  we  have  borne  you, 
All  that's  left  to  our  children 
Of  the  death-debt  we  owed  you ; 
For  the  full  claim  of  vengeance, 
By  his  death  has  been  answered — 


YOONEMSKOTA.  67 


Death  of  great  Yoonemskota. 

Let  us  now  cease  our  warring ; 
Let  us  henceforth  be  brothers, 
As  the  sons  of  one  father — 
Even  our  Great  Sire  Wahcondah 
If  we  must  go  to  battle, 
If  we  must  have  a  foe  to 
Keep  alive  vengeance,  listen  ! 
There's  a  foe  on  our  border — 
Foe  alike  to  the  Huron, 
Shawnee,  Mingo,  Mohawk, — 
To  the  whole  brotherhood  of 
Red  men  : — pale  face  they  call  him  ! 

Shawnees,  hear  the  counsel 
Of  your  loved  Yoonemskota 
That  he  left  to  his  people 
Ere  he  took  his  departure 
Through  the  fires  of  the  death  stake 
To  the  Sun-land  of  Spirits. 

Lend  your  ears,  O  my  people ! 
To  the  words  that  your  chieftain, 
Even  your  loved  Yoonemskota, 
Heard  declared  in  the  council 
By  the  wise  Hworaminta — 

Heard,  well  pleased! 


68  SEEN    AND    HEARD. 

"  '  Hurons,  hear  Hworaminta  ! 
Shawnees,  bear  Hworaminta ! 
Chippcwas,  Mingoes,  Mohawks, — 
All  hear  Hworaminta ! 
We  must  join  tribes  and  kindred  ; 
We  must  join  hearts  and  weapons, 
And  beat  back  over  the  mountains, 
Whence  he  came,  this  dread  stranger. 
If  he  comes,  we  must  vanish  ; 
If  he  stays,  we  must  perish  ! 
Great  his  strength  !  great  his  cunning  ! 
Too  great !  too  great  for  red  man  ! 

Join,  red  brothers,  join  ! ' 

"  Wyandots, 

Ye  have  heard  Yoonemskota. 
Now  ye  know  why  your  captive, 
For  his  own  honor,  dares  not 
Live  ;  and  why  for  the  welfare 
Of  the  red  race  he  needs  must 
Die.     And  this  be  his  answer. 
He  has  lived  like  a  sachem, — 
He  shall  die  like  a  warrior. 
Farewell  to  Yoonemskota !  " 


YOONE.MSKOTA.  69 

THE  DEATH-STAKE. 


THE  council-fire  is  quenched,  and,  self-doomed, 
The  captive  to  the  red  stake  stands  bound  ; 
The  fagots  heaped  against  him,  breast-high. 
The  day  is  well  nigh  spent.     The  red  sun, 
Sluggishly  sliding  down  the  steep  sky, 
As  sluggishly  creeping  towards  the  shagged  slopes 
Of  yonder  forest-crested  hill  range, 
The  shadow  of  the  council-house  pine, 
Which,  like  index,  points  to  where  soon 
The  moon  shall  clip  yon  lonely  bald  peak — 
The  time  when  they  shall  light  the  death-pile. 

But  brightly  burns  the  captive's  stern  eye, 
As  now  he  turns  to  take  his  last  look 
At  mountain,  river,  wood  and  fair  plain — 
The  pleasant  objects  of  the  sweet  earth 
To  vanish  soon  in  the  shades  of  death's  night. 

Perhaps,  when  he  is  gone,  the  young  braves 
Shall  go  and  stand  before  their  sires,  saying : 
1  Fathers,  why  stand  the  tribes  so  still  now, 
And  why  upon  the  land  this  death-hush?" 
Then  shall  some  sage,  upon  whose  hoar  head 
Have  snowed  a  hundred  winters,  lay  down 


70  SEEN   AND    HEARD. 

His  pipe,  and  thus  make  answer :  "  Sons,  listen! 
And  hear  why  stand  the  tribes  so  still  now : 
'Tis  because  Yoonemskota  moves  not. 
And  why  upon  the  land  this  Heath-hush : 
'Tis  because  Yoonemskota  lives  not. 

He  foil  in  the  midst  of  his  foes,  afar  off. 
We  heard  the  fall — 'twas  like  the  loud  crash 
Made  by  the  mountain  oak  when  struck  down 
At  night  by  thunder-handed  whirlwinds. 
We  heard,  and  held  our  breath,  and,  awe-struck, 
Looking  rich  other  in  the  faco,  whimpered: 
'  What  was  it  ?     Shook  it  not  the  firm  earth  ? 
Surely,  a  mighty  one  is  gone  down?' 
Then  came  the  winds,  the  ruuaers  unseen, 
And,  as  they  quivering  flew  us  ^ast,  cried : 
Woe!  woe!  great  Yoonemslota  is  fallen — fallen! 

At  the  summons  of  the  Great  Spirit, 
He  had  gone  to  join  his  happy  forefathers 
In  the  never-ending  wild  hurt, 
Where  smile  the  flowery  plains  of  Sunset — 
The  happy  hunting  grounds- — the  Soul's  Home, 
Whose  borders  none  recross  who  cross  once. 

"  The  sun,  awakened  by  the  Great  Spirit, 
Springs,  flushed  and  flaming,  from  the  red  East, 
And  dashing  from  his  face  the  bright  clouds, 


YOONEMSKOTA.  71 

Called  to  the  winged  winds  to  come  forth 
And  strip  the  mountains  of  their  mist-robes, 
That  he  may  see  his  course  with  clear  eye, 
As  up  the  sky  he  takes  his  proud  march. 
He  drinks  the  dews,  to  slake  his  hot  thirst ; 
He  burns  the  earth  at  noon  with  fierce  heat ; 
Then  down  the  sky  he  rolls  with  wild  speed, 
Till,  quenched  in  blood-red  clouds, 
He  sinks  down,  lost  in  the  gloomy  depths 
Of  black  night.     But  he  leaves  behind  him 
Many  bright  sparks,  that  shine  all  night 
To  guide  the  red  man  through  darksome  woods, 
Where  winds  his  war-path. 

"Thus,  Yoonemskota,  sun-like,  came  forth 
In  the  flushed  morning  of  his  lifetime. 
Before  lain  lay  the  crimson  war-path, — 
The  path  of  blood,  and  fire,  and  great  deeds, 
And  proudly  did  he  tread  it — our  war-chief — 
Till  nations  trembled,  till  the  earth  shook  : 
Till  down  himself  he  sank — his  life-fire 
Quenched  in  the  blood  of  foes— his  own  blood — 
And  over  him  closed  the  shades  of  death's  night. 
But  he  left  behind  him  many  great  deeds, 
To  shine  in  after  times,  like  bright  stars, 
And  tell  his  people  that  he  once  lived, 
And  fire  their  young  braves  to  the  like  deeds. 


72  SEEN    AND    HEARD. 

"  Though  Yooncmskota,  our  loved  chief, 
Shine  in  our  memory  as  a  set  sun, 
His  foes  remember  him  as  a  whirlwind, 
Which,  from  its  ambush  in  the  dark  West, 
Leaps  suddenly  upon  the  high  hills ; — 
A  moment  wrestles  with  the  brave  oaks, 
Breaking  tlieir  stiff  backs,  humbling  their  proud  heads, 
Then  rushing  on,  with  yell  and  hoarse  roar, 
O'er  hill  and  plain,  straightforward,  zig-zag — 
Leaving  wide-wasted  woods,  and  rent  rocks, 
And  haggled  hills,  to  mark  its  foot  print. 
Then  ceasing  on  a  sudden — hushed — gone  ! 

"Your  questions  have  been  answered,  young  braves. 
Ye  have  heard  why  stand  the  tribes  so  still  now ; 
Why  over  the  land  hangs  this  death-hush. 
Go  follow  Yoonemskota's  war  path  ! 
Like  Yoonemskota  live, — like  him  die  !  " 

A  gleam,  as  'twere  the  gleam  of  death  steel, 

Begins  to  kindle  in  his  stern  eye, 

For  now  begins  to  ring  his  war-song. 

It  cleaves  the  air,  it  shakes  the  still  scene, 

As  if  it  were  a  rush  of  death-wind  ; — 

A  sound  at  which  the  boldest  hearts  quake 

With  secret  dread,  and  awe-struck,  shrink  back. 


YOONEMSKOTA.  73 

'Tis  like  a  sound,  not  earthly,  heard  when 
The  soul,  in  lonely  dreamings,  walks  side 
]}y  side  with  the  HIDDEN  VOICES  of  Ghost-land. 

And  while  those  wild  notes  rise  and  ring  out 
Upon  the  quivering  air.  the  tall  woods 
Quiet  their  leaves  and  bend  their  proud  heads 
To  listen ;  the  river  stills  its  low  tune 
To  liquid  stillness ;  the  evening  winds  hold 
Their  breath  to  mute  attention  hushed  ;  while, 
From  whispering  hill  to  whispering  hill,  fly 
The  mocking  echoes,  till  the  charmed  air 
Seemed  thronged  with  voices  wild  and  weird — 
And  wild  as  the  hidden  voices  of  ghost-land. 
And  thus  proud  Yooncmskota's  war-song. 


YOONEMSKOTA'S  WAR-SONG 


"mHERE  was  a  AVar-whoop  ! 
-I-    It  rang  among  the  hills, 
Ife  ran  along  the  valleys ; 
Went  sounding  over  the  plains, 
Went  echoing  through  the  forests ; — 
And  loudest,  where  the  foe 


SEEN    AND    HEARD. 

Might  hear  it  from  his  ambush, 
Or  from  his  guarded  camp  ; 
And  never  without  a  death-yell, 
To  tell  it  had  been  heard  :— 
Yoonemskota's  War-whoop! 

"  There  was  a  Death-steel! 
It  gleamed  upon  the  hills, 
It  gleamed  along  the  valleys  ; 
Went  flashing  over  the  plains, 
Went  glittering  through  the  forests  ;  — 
And  fiercest,  where  the  foe 
Might  see  it  from  his  ambush, 
Or  from  his  guarded  camp. 
It  never  was  uplifted 
But  that  a  foeman  fell  :  — 
Yoonemskota's  Death-steel  ! 

"  There  was  a  War-path  ! 
It  ran  among  the  hills, 
It  ran  along  the  valleys  ; 
Went  sweeping  over  the  plains, 
Went  winding  through  the  forests  ;— 
And  reddest,  where  the  foe 
Lay  strongest  in  his  ambush, 
Or  in  his  guarded  camp. 


YOONEM3KOTA. 

It  never  crossed  the  border 
But  foemcn  strewed  its  track  : — 
Yoonemskota's  War-path  ! 

"There  was  a  Fire-brand ! 
It  flamed  upon  the  hills, 
It  flamed  along  the  valleys ; 
Went  blazing  over  the  plains, 
Went  glaring  through  the  forest 
Before  it  smiled  the  land, 
With  pleasant  towns  and  corn-fields ; 
Behind  it  smoked  the  land 
With  blackened  desolation ; 
And  foemen  fled  its  wrath  : — 
Yoonemskota's  fire  brand ! 

"  There  was  a  Whirlwind  1 
It  growled  among  the  hills, 
It  howled  along  the  valleys  ; 
Rolled  bellowing  over  the  plains, 
Rushed  yelling  through  the  forests. 
From  its  wide-sweeping  hand 
It  hurled  the  jagged  lightnings, 
Piercing  the  whirling  clouds, 
Stunning  the  steadfast  mountains. 
It  tugged  at  the  oaks  and  pines, 


76  SEEN    AND    HEARD. 

And  left  them  mangled  and  shivered ; 

It  stamped  upon  the  plains, 

And  left  them  scarred  and  furrowed  ; 

It  pushed  against  the  hills, 

And  left  them  rent  and  twisted. 

Then  fell  a  hush  on  the  laud ! 

Yooucmskota,  the  Whirl-wind ! 

' '  There  is  a  Death-stake ! 
'Twill  tip  a  hill  with  lire, 
Spit  flames  into  the  valley; 
Fling  sparkles  over  thy  plains, 
Shoot  lightnings  through  the  forest. 
And  when  they  light  the  pile, 
The  doomed  shall  dance  upon  it — 
Upon  it  dance  as  blithe, 
As  dance  the  doomcrs  round  it. 
Dance,  doomed  and  doomcrs — dance  1 
Yoonemskota's  death-stake  ! 

' '  There  is  a  Triumph  ! 
To  burn  upon  the  hill, 
And  let  the  valley  tell  it, 
And  let  the  plain  repeat  it, 
And  let  the  forest  shout  it. 
Then  may  the  warrior  light 


YOOXEMSKOTA. 

His  war-pipe  at  his  death-pile, 
And  with  the  smoke  of  revenge 
Send  up  the  smoke  of  defiance ; 
Dance  on  the  burning  coals 
Ilis  war  dance  ;  sing  his  war  song 
Amid  the  howling  flames  ; 
Defying  the  utmost  vengeance 
Their  tortures  can  inflict ; — 
Defying  them,  defying  them  ! 
And  laughing  them  to  scorn  ! 
A  triumph  !   0  a  triumph  ! 
None  but  the  brave  deserve ! 
Yoonemskota's  triumph ! 

"  There  is  a  Name! 
It  rings  among  the  hills, 
It  rings  along  the  valleys  ; 
Goes  sounding  over  the  plains, 
Goes  echoing  through  the  forests ; 
A  name  that  friends  shall  sing, — 
A  cry  to  lead  to  victory, 
A  sound  to  waken  love. 
A  name  that  foes  shall  whisper, — 
A  cry  to  bring  defeat, 
A  sound  to  waken  terror. 


78  SEEN    AND    HEARD. 

Earth  rings  with  it  so  loud, 
The  hollow  sky  must  answer ; 
Till  far  in  Sun-set-land, 
The  Hidden  Voices  echo, 
And  ring  it  in  the  ears — 
The  ears  of'  great  Wahcondah  ; 
And  great  Wahcondah  smiles, 
And  smiling  says  .    '  Come  quicky, 
Quickly,  brave  warrior,  come  ! 
And  join  thy  happy  fathers — 
Thy  fathers  good  and  brave — 
In  the  never  ending  wild  hunt. 
Come ' !  and  he  calls  the  name — 
The  name  that  foes  shall  whisper, 
The  name  that  friends  shall  sing, — 
The  name  of  Yoonemskota  ?  " 


SUNSET. 


HUSHED  is  the  voice  of  the  doomed  chief- 
Silent  the  song  of  the  proud  brave ! 
Still  from  the  depth  of  his  stern  eye 
Fearfully  flashes  the  death-gleam  : 
Oft  have  his  foes,  on  the  war-plain, 


YOOSEMSKOTA.  79 

Met,  without  flinching,  its  fierce  glance; 
But  from  the  lig'it  01'  its  death-gleam 
Shrink  they  with  'rambling  and  vague  dread. 
Snapped  is  its  sp-/il,  like  a  bow-string — 
Spell  of  that  song  on  the  charmed  scene. 
Stealthily  rising,  i.lio  soft  winds 
Talk  in  the  tops  of  the  tall  woods, 
Whispering  like  voices  from  ghost-land. 
Nodding  again  is  the  tall  wood — • 
Loftily  nodding  its  plumed  crest. 
Sweetly  renewing  its  low  tune, 
Shiningly  ripples  the  broad  stream, 
Solemnly  singing  its  low  tune  ; 
Red  as  vermilion,  its  brown  banks, 
Glistening  as  wampum,  its  gray  cliffs, 
Bathed  in  the  sheen  of  the  low  sun. 
Now  by  the  sprll  uf  those  weird  notes, 
Fettered  no  longer,  the  lone  scene 
Turns  up  its  beautiful  wild  face — 
Timidly  up  to  the  calm  sky  ; 
While,  as  in  answer,  the  calm  sky 
Smilingly  bends  to  the  lone  scene, 
Bringing  assurance  that  all's  well ! 

Though  still  afloat  on  his  light  clouds, 
Slowly  is  sinking  the  Day-chief; 


80  SEEX    AND    HEARD. 

Now  he  is  resting  bis  broad  chin, 
Quite  on  the  crest  of  a  green  peak — 
Ogling  the  earth  betwixt  two 
Venerable  pines,  that  as  steep  mounds, 
Built  up  of  verdure  and  vine-grown, 
Stand  there  to  pillow  the  bright  gates 
Leading  to  Sunset,  the  soul's  land — 
Soon  to  be  closed  on  the  sweet  earth. 

Thitherward,  fixedly,  long  looks 
Doomed  Yoonemskota  :  at  last  speaks — 
Brighter  yet  burning  that  death-gleam  :— 

"  When  it  is  over  and  all  still, 
Then  shall  my  spirit  depart  hence, 
Passing  betwixt  the  two  great  pines : 
Listen,  and  hear  ye  a  wild  rush!  " 

Scarce  has  he  spoken — when  look,  look! 
There,  as  if  leaped  from  the  bright  clouds, 
Just  there  betwixt  the  two  great  pines — 
Stands  on  the  summit  a  light  form, 
Airly  flecking  the  sun's  face. 
Brave  Yoonemskota  is  awe-struck — 
Troubled  the  depth  of  his  stern  soul. 
For  in  his  dreams  has  he  oft  seen 
Flitting  before  him  a  bright  shape, 
Like  that  now  flocking  the  sun's  face. 


YOOXEMSKOTA.  81 

Say,  Yooncmskota  !  what  seest  thou, 
Spectre-like,  flecking  the  sun's  face? 
Is  it  a  spirit  of  Sunset 
Coming  to  bide  in  the  night  shades 
Till  it  is  over  and  all  still, 
Then  to  conduct  thec  by  dim  paths 
Over  the  borders  of  ghost-land? 
Or  but  a  beautiful  mist-shape, 
Such  as  arc  met  by  the  lone  soul 
When  it  is  roaming  by  dream-light 
Over  the  realms  of  the  Unseen  ? 
Maybe  a  maid  of  the  wild  wood, 
Fair  as  the  morning,  with  tall  form 
Light  as  the  fawn  of  the  white  foot ; 
Hair  like  the  locks  of  the  storm  cloud, 
Eyes  like  the  depths  of  the  starred  sky. 
Maybe  'tis  this,  and  perhaps — that ! 

Who  knows  !     Who  knows ! 

Weary  of  looking  the  day  long, 
Now  from  betwixt  the  two  great  pines 
Smilingly  winketh  the  Day-chief — 
Winketh  good  night  to  the  sweet  earth, 
Kissing  the  hem  of  her  green  skirts, 
As  he  w  ithdraws  from  her  loved  presence ; 
Then  on  the  bosom  of  fair  clouds 


82  SEEN    AND    HEARD. 

Drowsily  pillows  his  bright  head, 
Sped  to  his  slumbers  by  soft  winds, 
Waving  their  fans  from  the  cool  hills. 

Scarce  is  he  gone,  when  the  fair  clouds, 
Sinking  down  level  and  wide-spread, 
Flush  up  as  crimson  as  war-plains: — 
Plains  where  is  ringing  the  death  yell, 
Hissing  and  piercing  the  plumed  dart, 
Whizzing  and  crushing  the  fell  club, 
Flashing  and  cleaving  the  death-steel, 
Victor  on  vanquished,  in  wild  rage, 
Stamping,  and  drinking  the  life-stream, 
Hot  from  the  springs  of  the  fierce  heart, — 
Draught  that  alone  can  appease  vengeance — 

Vengeance ! 


M  O  O  N  R  I  S  E  . 


rpWILIGHT  is  coming,  with  gray  eye 
-*-    Widely  distended,  and  soft  tread, 
Softer  than  velvety  wild  cat 
Nigh  within  spring  of  its  watched  prey. 


YOOXEMSKOTA.  83. 

Next,  like  a  giantess,  mist-veiled, 
Silent  and  ominous,  grim  Night, 
Sullenly  trailing  her  dun  skirts, 
Over  the  sweep  of  the  blithe  Day, 
Slowly  comes  pacing  her  still  rounds 
Over  the  breadth  of  the  hushed  earth, 
Followed  by  shadows  and  wild  shapes. 
Shapes  to  lie  ambushed  in  mist-lurks, 
Waiting  to  frighten  the  lone  soul, 
Thitherward  wandering  by  dream-light 
Strayed  from  the  hush  of  its  closed  lodge. 
Shadows  to  cover  the  gaunt  wolf, 
Panther  and  Indian,  on  still  watch  ; 
Shadows  to  cover  the  war-path, — 
Shadows  to  cover  the  death-stake. 

Still  with  his  back  to  the  death-stake, 
Tethered  is  standing  the  doomed  chief; 
Still  from  the  depths  of  that  stern  eye, 
Piercing  the  dark  like  a  far  lamp, 
Glitters  and  glances  that  death-gleam. 

Swift  to  the  call  of  their  war-chief, — 
Call  to  assemble  at  moonrise, 
That  they  may  join  in  the  war-dance, 
Danco  in  the  glare  of  the  death-pile — 
Hither  the  Wyandot  braves,  one 


84  SEEN   AND    HEARD. 

After  another,  now  speed  them, 
Stealing  through  forest  and  night  shade. 
Soft  as  the  velvety  wild  cat 
Nigh  within  spring  of  its  watched  prey ; 
Hungry  and  thirsty,  as  grim  ghouls, 
Hasting  to  hold  them  a  blood-feast. 
But  there  is  one  who  appears  not ; — 
Noble  Oheno,  the  Brave  Heart. 

Earnestly  upward  are  all  eyes 
Turned  towards  the  top  of  yon  bald  peak 
Waiting  the  moment,  the  full  Moon, 
Showing  her  face  in  the  dim  East, 
Tells  them  to  kindle  the  death -pile. 
There  !  she  is  coining — a  soft  glow, 
Spread  like  the  wings  of  a  spring  mist, 
Gradually  veiling  the  starred  sky. 
Higher  and  wider  it  now  swims, 
Shimmering,  trembling  in  air;  now 
Silvers  the  blue  with  a  mild  sheen  : 
Next — and  lo!  with  a  keen  edge, 
Clipping  the  skirts  of  the  white  clouds, 
There  is  the  moon,  and  her  broad  disk 
Scarce  half  eclipsed  by  the  bald  peak. 

Ready  he  stands  with  the  pine  torch, 
Greedily  waiting,  is  Black  Wolf, 


YOOXEMSKOTA.  85 

Tor  the  sweet  moment  of  moonrise, 
When  he  may  kindle  the  death-pile, 
And  of  revenge  have  his  wolf's  fill. 
But  he  delays  for  a  brief  space, 
Keen  as  he  is  for  revenge  :  why  ? 
Only  to  glance  at  what  all  watch, 
Wondering :  the  form  of  a  tall  brave 
Standing  up  there  on  the  bald  peak, 
Gloomily  flecking  the  moon's  face. 
Brave  with  the  pride  of  the  war-bird, 
Proudly  is  nodding  his  plumed  crest, 
Swayed  by  the  frolicsome  night  winds, 
Sporting  as  'twere  with  a  tall  pine  ; 
While,  like  the  sheen  of  the  loose  stars 
Shot  from  the  midsummer  night  sky, 
Gleaming  from  afar  on  the  strained  eye, 
Glitters  the  steel  at  his  war-belt. 
Look,  Yoonemskota  !     A  light  form, 
Leapt  as  it  were  from  the  round  moon 
Down  on  the  top  of  the  bald  peak, 
Suddenly  stands  by  the  tall  brave. 
Has  not  the  like  of  that  light  form, 
Standing  up  there  in  the  moonlight, 
Oft  been  before  thee  by  dream-light? 
Once  been  before  thee  at  sunset  ? 
Say,  what  manner  of  thing  be  it?  • 


86  SEEN    AND    ILEAHD. 

Is  it  that  spirit  of  sunset 
Sent  to  abide  in  the  night  shade 
"Till  it  is  over  and  all  still," 
Then  to  conduct  thce,  by  dim  paths, 
Over  the  borders  of  ghost-land? 
Or  but  a  beautiful  mist-shape, 
Such  as  arc  met  by  the  lone  soul 
When  it  is  wandering  by  dream-light 
Over  the  realms  of  the  Unseen  ? 
Maybe  a  maid  of  the  wild  wood, 
Fair  as  the  morning,  with  tall  form, 
Light  as  the  fawn  with  white  foot ; 
Hair  like  the  locks  of  the  storm-cloud, 
Eyes  like  the  depths  of  the  starred  sky ; 
Maybe  'tis  this,  and  perhaps — that ! 
Who  knows !     Who  knows  ! 

Down  to  the  car  of  the  light  form 
Bends,  as  if  whispering,  the  tall  brave, 
While  from  between  them  the  moon's  eye, 
Sidelong,  is  peering  with  still  wink. 
Silent  again,  they  now  look  down, 
Earnestly  scanning  the  dark  scene 
Passing  beneath  them  : — The  red  stake, 
Fagots,  and  flickering  pine  torch, 
Captive  arid  warriors,  who  still  stand 


YOOXEM3KOTA .  8T 

Gazing  askance  at  the  barred  moon. 
Now  they  are  scanning  the  night  sky, 
Westward!)' pointing  the  tall  brave. 
Whisper  again,  and  the  dark  scene 
Passing  beneath  them  again  scan  ; 
Then,  in  the  wink  of  an  eye,  gone — 
Vanished  in  air,  like  a  still  dream ; 
And  without  shadow  the  moon  hangs 
Clear  and  round ! 


FIRED. 

A    HORRIBLE  yell !     And  the  rocks  and  the  hills 
•£*-    Hurled  back  from  their  caverns  a  savage  response. 
Another,  more  loud,  and  the  hoary  woods  shake 
As  if  a  strong  wind  were  astir  in  their  tops. 

A  border  of  dry  wood,  as  touchy  as  spunk, 
Encircles  the  death-pile,  and  following  this  up, 
The  red  flames  run  rapidly  round  the  red  stake, 
Though  distant  a  man's  length  ;  for  huge  is  the  pile, 
And  lofty  the  stake,  and  triumphant  the  dance, 
With  which  they  are  honoring  great  Yoonemskota. 


88  SEEN   AND    HEARD. 

Now  bringing  together  its  ends  with  a  snap, 
Like  a  mad  serpent  catching  its  tail  in  its  mouth, 
The  circle  of  fire  round  the  stake  is  complete. 
It  writhes  and  it  hisses,  spits  sparks  in  the  air, 
Darts  arrow-tongued  blazes  that  lick  up  the  leaves, 
And  its  red  coil  contracts,  as  constrictively  drawn. 

And  from  the  red  circle  is  rising  the  smoke, 
A  hollow,  black  pillar  that  looms  to  the  sky, 
Where,  huddling  and  spreading,  it  spirally  rolls, 
Like  the  throat  of  a  whirlwind  when  sucking  the  waves. 

And  round  and  round,  like  the  demons  of  fire, 
The  warriors  go  dancing,  with  caper  and  bound. 
They  whoop  as  they  caper,  and  yell  as  they  bound  ; 
Their  war-song  they  sing,  and  their  battle-cry  shout. 
Their  naked  steel  gleams  in  the  glare  of  the  pile, 
Like  quick-dancing  meteors  streaking  the  dark. 
They  stab  at  the  flames  as  a  thing  that  had  heart ; 
As  a  thing  that  had  bowels,  they  rip  up  the  smoke. 
They  flourish  their  war-clubs  aloft  in  their  rage, 
And  smite  them  together  with  ponderous  thump ; 
Their  tomahawks  brandish  high  over  their  heads, 
And  clash  them  together  with  murderous  ring ; 
Till  fierce,  as  in  fight,  is  the  din  of  the  dance. 
A  frolic  !  a  frolic  I— the  frolic  of  Death  ! 
A  feast !  a  feast !— the  feast  of  Revenge  ! 
Come,  join!     Come,  join  in  the  frolic  and  feast! 


YOONEMSKOTA.  89 

But  brave  Yoonemskota  is  whiffing  his  pipe — 
Composedly  whiffing  his  pipe  as  at  home — • 
And  together,  as  said  he  but  now  it  should  be, 
The  smoke  of  defiance  and  torture  ascend. 
When  his  death-pile  was  lighted,  he  begged  of  his  foes, 
As  the  circle  of  burning  lay  quite  beyond  reach, 
To  hand  him  a  coal  that  his  pipe  he  might  light ; 
And  brave  Hworaminta,  with  hostile  respect 
And  stern  admiration,  did  hand  him  the  coal — 
With  savage  politeness,  did  hand  him  the  coal. 

But  the  smoke  of  his  death-pile  as  yet  is  too  thick 
For  the  smoke  of  his  war-pipe  to  show  to  his  foes ; 
So  his  war-whoop  he  raises,  his  war-song  he  sings, 
His  triumph  proclaims  from  his  circle  of  fire, 
His  defiance  sends  out  from  his  pillar  of  smoke, 
TQ  tell  them  how  bravely  and  blithely  it  goes. 

"  Brave  Wyandots,  fire!"  cries  he.     "Fire!  I  am  cold! 
Come  scalp  me  and  flay  me  that  I  may  be  warm ! 
And  do  it  with  knives  that  are  whetted  in  flames ; 
With  hissing  hot  irons  my  eye-balls  bore  out ! 
And  through  and  through  thrust  me  with  splinters  afire, 
That  the  fire  of  revenge  may  be  quenched  in  my  blood ! " 

In  answer,  cries  Black  Wolf:  ' '  There's  time  for  that  yet, 
My  hardy  one  ;  0  but  there's  time  for  that  yet ! 
Fear  not,  fear  not,  but  all  shall  be  done  ! 
0  sweet !  0  sweet  is  the  meal  of  revenue  ! 


90  SEEN   AND   HEARD. 

'Tis  sweeter  than  venison  hot  from  the  coals, 
Than  buffalo  marrow  just  cracked  from  the  bones ! 
0  sweet !  0  sweet  is  the  meal  of  revenge ! 
But  sweetest  when  roasted,  with  dance  and  with  song!'* 
And  round  and  round,  like  the  demons  of  fire, 
The  warriors  go  dancing,  with  caper  and  bound. 
They  loom  through  the  smoke  like  the  horrible  shapes 
That  are  foaled  by  the  night-mare  in  feverish  dreams, 
When  stands  the  heart  still,  and  the  limbs  have  no  nerve 
To  shake  off  the  fiend  that  is  crushing  the  breast. 

The  gaunt  wolves,  afar  oft'  in  dread  of  the  blaze, 
Stand  watching  and  howling  and  snapping  their  fangs ; 
And  scared  from  their  nests  by  the  uproar  and  glare, 
The  night-birds  rise  wheeling  and  screaming  aloft. 
The  panther,  high  crouched  in  his  tree-top,  looks  down 
With  savage  glee,  waving  his  tail  at  the  scene  ; 
And  rattle-snakes,  lured  by  the  shine  of  the  flames, 
Crawl  warily  up  till  their  glittering  eyes, 
In  thicket  and  grass,  are  seen  glancing  like  sparks. 

Transparent  is  growing  the  pillar  of  smoke, 
As  brighter  and  fiercer  the  circle  of  fire, 
Which  tosses  and  surges  and  roars  round  the  pile, 
Like  a  surf  of  the  lake  round  a  half-sunken  rock, 
When  aglow  with  the  lightnings  aflame  in  the  clouds, 
And  the  innermost  fagots  begin  to  be  scorched. 


YOOXEMSKOTA.  91 

But  hark  !     Now  it  rings ;  and  the  roar  of  tho  flames, 
The  yells  of  the  warriors,  and  howls  of  the  wolves, 
Are  scarce  to  be  "heard  for  the  voice  at  the  stake, 
As  sings  he  his  death-song,  so  loud  and  so  dread 
That  the  hearts  of  the  braves  and  the  hoary  woods  quake, 
Though  shakes  not  the  voice  that  is  singing  this  song. 


YOONEMSKOTA'S  DEATH-SONG. 


mHERE  is  a  Foe  ! 
-•-    His  camp  is  in  the  land 
Of  black  and  silent  shadows ; 
His  war-path  in  the  sweep 
Of  fire  and  flood  and  tempest; 
His  ambush  in  the  blast 
Of  pestilence  and  famine  ; 
His  weapon  but  a  breath, 
Blown  cold  and  still  in  passing: — 
Death !    Death ! 

"  He  comes  into  the  day, 
But  none  may  sec  his  shadow  ; 
Not  when  he  joins  the  throng 


92  SEEN    AND    HEARD. 

Of  foemen,  fiercely  fighting; 
Nor  when  he  joins  the  rush 
Of  victors,  madly  chasing  ; 
Nor  when  he  joins  the  whirl 
Of  captors,  wildly  dancing 
Around  the  burning  pile — • 
Around  the  singing  captive : — 
Death!     Death! 

"  His  foot  is  on  the  earth, 
But  none  may  hear  its  echo, 
Though  crushing  be  its  tread, 
Though  deep  and  red  its  foot-prints,- 
Seen  in  the  crimson  spots 
That  cover  the  field  of  battle, 
Seen  in  the  graves  that  rise 
Where  foe  with  foe  has  fallen, 
Seen  in  the  blackened  heaps 
Of  hunting  camp  and  village, 
And  in  the  ashes  left 
Where  burned  the  fire  of  torture : — 

Death !     Death  ! 

' '  There  is  a  Brave  ! 
Who  ever,  without  flinching, 
Has  met  the  eye  of  death, — 


YOONEMSKOTA.  93 

Seen  gleaming  in  the  hatchet 
Hurled  whizzing  at  his  head ; 
Seen  glancing  in  the  arrow 
Shot  hissing  at  his  heart ; 
Seen  glittering  in  the  long  knife 
Struck  fiercely  at  his  throat ; 
Seen  blazing  in  the  rifle 
Which,  at  his  naked  breast,  . 

Its  smoky  thunders  bolted  ; 
Nor  flinches  he  now  to  see 
Its  fierce  glare  bent  upon  him 
From  out  the  hungry  flames  : — 
A  Brave  !      A  Brave  ! 

"  A  Brave  that  fears  thee  not, 
Thou  black  and  silent  warrior, 
Fell  ambusher  of  night, 
Dread  conqueror  of  the  proudest ; — • 
A  Brave  that  fears  thee  not, 
But  dares  the  blackest  horrors 
That  follow  at  thy  heels 
Or  lurk  among  thy  shadows. 

He  dares !     He  dares ! 

"  Go,  call  the  shades  of  them 
Whom  he  has  slain  in  battle, 


94  SEEX    AND    HEARD. 

"To  join  the  avenger's  dance 

Around  the  hand  that  slew  them  ; 

To  see  a  warrior  die, 

And  see  a  warrior  triumph, 

When,  through  thy  fiery  doors, 

He  steps  into  thy  shadows, 

With  spirit  unappalled, 

'And  face  to  face  confronts  them, 

Confronts  them,  one  and  all, 

Unless  they  fly  his  coming, 

As  in  the  day  he  slew. 

He  comes  !     He  comes ! 

"  I'm  here  !     I'm. here! 
Outside  thy  fiery  door, 
And  waiting  for  thy  greeting. 
Thy  hand,  brave  Death,  thy  hand  ! 
Our  grasp  shall  be  the  warmer 
Thus  joined  amid  the  flames. 
Thy  fiery  doors  are  closing, 
Shutting  me  in  with  the  dead, 
Shutting  me  out  from  the  living  ! 
Thy  hand,  brave  Death,  thy  hand! 
Farewell  to  Yoonemskota !  " 


VOOXEMSKOTA.  95 

QUENCHED. 


horror  is  chilling  the  limbs  of  the  strong, 
And  freezing  the  blood  in  the  hearts  of  the  brave ; 
For  never  has  death-song  been  heard  at  the  stake 
So  loud  and  so  dread  as  that  sung  by  the  doomed. 
They  shrink  from  the  death-gleam  that  burns  in  his  eye ; 
The  brands  heap  together  to  hasten  his  end ; 
Call  madly  on  Death,  bid  him  mend  his  slow  pace, 
And  speed  him  to  join  in  the  torture  and  dance. 

The  death-pile  is  shrinking — all  red  hot  without — 
The  red  coil  contracting,  constrictively  drawn; 
More  near  and  more  near  creep  the  serpcnt-tongued  flames, 
Which  now  are  beginning  to  lick  up  the  sap 
Of  the  innermost  fagots.     His  bear-skin  is  singed, 
His  eagle  plumes  quiver,  as  quiver  the  flames, 
And  seen  through  the  air,  all  a-tremble  with  heat, 
The  trees  and  the  hills  seem  to  dance  with  the  braves. 

Already  the  flames  are  within  reach  of  the  stake, 
Already  are  leaping  to  bite  at  his  plumes^ 
When,  lo!  on  a  sudden,  how  blacked  is  the  sky  ! 
And  hushed  the  wild  din,  as  if  silenced  in  death  ! 
And  as  sudden  as  blacked,  and  more  sudden  than  hushed, 
In  torrents  and  rivers,  down  drops  with  a  plump — 


96  SREX   AND   HEARD. 

The  rain — the  rain — the  rain  ! 

And  the  fierce  eye  of  torture,  the  mild  eye  of  night, 

The  sparks,  and  the  twinklers,  are  quenched  in  a  trice. 

The  tempest  is  come,  at  a  step  and  a  bound, 
From  the  West,  where,  at  sunset,  the  white  clouds  were  seen 
To  sink  down  as  level  and  flush  up  as  red 
As  snow-covered  war-plains  when  crimsoned  with  strife: — 
From  the  West,  where,  at  moonrise,  the  shapes  on  the  hill 
Saw  something  unnoted  by  those  in  the  vale. 

And  round  and  round,  like  the  warriors  but  now, 
The  whirlwind  goes  dancing,  with  caper  and  bound. 
It  spins  and  it  whistles,  it  leaps  and  it  yells ; 
It  sweeps  the  tall  forests  with  thunderous  wings ; 
Now  thrashing  the  branches  and  twisting  the  trunks, 
Now  beating  the  heads  of  the  poplars  and  oaks, 
Till  down,  with  a  hideous  crash,  they  fall,  riven, 
And  the  torrents  and  rivers  still  pour  from  the  sky. 

The  storm-demons,  ambushed  behind  the  black  clouds, 
Are  shooting  their  arrowy  lightnings  at  earth, 
And  the  red  shafts  are  piercing  and  rending  the  woods 
With  a  noise  like  the  hissing  and  whizzing  of  darts. 
The  voice  of  the  thunder  speaks  down  to  the  hills, 
Upshout  the  old  hills,  with  a  nod  of  their  heads, 
While  their  echoes,  bewildered  what  answer  to  frame, 
Where  pause  none  is  left  them,  at  random  reply; 
Till  thunder  and  echoes  seem  all  to  be  one, — 


YOOXEMSKOTA.  97 

And  the  torrents  and  rivers  still  pour  from  the  sky, 
Loud,  clear  and  triumphant,  above  the  rude  roar, 
It  rings  out  again — the  dread  voice  at  the  stake, 
In  wild  mocking  irony,  echoing  words 
From  the  war-song  late  sung  and  the  death-song  scarce 
'     hushed : 

' '  There  is  a  death-stake  ! 
It  tips  a  hill  with  fire, 
Spits  flames  into  the  valley, 
Flings  sparks  over  the  plains, 
Shoots  lightnings  through  the  forest. 
And  when  the  pile  was  lit, 
The  doomed  did  dance  upon  it — 
Upon  it  danced  as  blithe 
As  danced  the  doomers  round  it. 
Dance,  doomed  and  doomers,  dance ! 

"  Hark  !  black  and  silent  warrior, 
Outside  thy  fiery  door 
I'm  waiting  for  thy  greeting. 
Thy  hand,  brave  Death,  thy  hand! 
Our  grasp  shall  be  the  warmer, 
Thus  joined  amid  the  flames. 
Thy  fiery  doors  are  closing : — 

Thy  hand !     Thy  hand  ! 


98  SEEN   AND    HEARD. 

' '  And  let  the  shades  of  them 
Whom  I  have  slain  in  battle 
.    Come  join  the  merry  dance 
Around  the  hand  that  slew  them. 
Dance,  Shades  !     Dance,  Death ! 
Dance  \vith  the  doomed  and  doomers, 
While  hottest  burns  the  flames. 

Dance !     Dance  !  " 

They've  stood  a  few  moments,  amazed  and  appalled, 

At  a  tempest  so  sudden  and  fierce  in  its  wrath ; 

Confounded,  abashed  at  the  words  of  the  doomed, 

So  savagely  blithe  'mid  the  horrors  around  : 

Till  now,  in  a  flash,  a  wild  panic  strikes  all, 

And,  howling  and  yelling,  they  turn  from  the  scene 

And  fly  to  the  shelter  of  wigwam  and  lodge. 

There  follows  a  loud  laugh  of  scorn  from  the  stake, 

And  the  voice  of  the  captive  in  mockery  saying : 

"  Brave  Hurons,  the  whirlwind  has  blown  out  my  pipe; 

Rekindle  my  fire,  and  I'll  light  it  again." 

They  are  stung  by  the  laugh,  and  enraged  at  the  taunt, 

And  back  to  the  stake,  through  the  darkness,  they  grope 

Unbind  the  dread  captive,  and  drag  him  away 

To  the  lodge  of  the  village,  where  warriors  shall  watch 

Till  morrow  brings  sunlight  and  drives  off  the  shades, 

When  proud  Yoonor.iskota  shall,  surely  shall,  uic  I 


YOONEMSKOTA. 


HUSH!    HE  DREAMS. 


fTlHE  savage  storm  has  fled, 
-*-   With  loud  yells,  over  the  mountains 
The  thunder's  voice  is  hushed, 
The  lightning's  red  eye  blinded. 
The  wind,  with  besomed  hand, 
Has  swept  away  the  storm-clouds, 
And  left  the  sky  serene, 
With  the  Great  Spirit's  smiling 
'  Seen  playing  over  its  face 
In  thousand  starry  glances. 
The  besomed  hand,  also, 
Has  swept  away  the  rain-mist, 
And  left  the  earth  o'erlaid 
With  the  clear  sheen  of  moonlight, 
That  silvers  all  the  scene 
With  dancing,  shimmering  brightness. 
The  moon,  among  the  stars, 
Has  taken  her  place  yet  higher, 
And  as  she  walks  the  heavens 
In  all-eclipsing  beauty, 
The  small  stars  stand  and  watch 
With  sidelong,  envious  glances. 


100  SEEN   AND    HEARD. 

And  in  the  lodge  the  guards 
Cast  sidelong,  watchful  glances 
At  Yoonemskota,  where, 
All  motionless,  he's  lying  ; 
Till,  weary  from  the  dance, 
And  lulled  by  drowsy  night  winds, 
They  sink  down,  one  by  one, 
Lost  in  forgetful  slumbers. 
And  Yoonemskota  sleeps 
More  soundly  than  his  captors  ; 
And  while  he  sleeps  he  dreams, 
And  dreams  a  wondrous  vision. 

A  thing  of  brightness  now, 
It  sports  in  beams  of  sunset. 
A  thing  of  mystery  next, 
It  flits  in  shades  of  twilight. 
Brightness  and  mystery  both, 
It  now  alights  at  moonrise 
Upon  a  far-off  hill 
Of  forest,  bare  but  grassy, 
Where,  lonely  under  the  moon, 
Watches  a  giant  warrior. 
They  stand  there,  side  by  side, 
The  moon  between  them  winking, 
And  talk  in  voices  low  ; 
But  Yoonemskota  hears  them. 


YOOXEMSKOTA.  101 

"What  errand,"  quoth  the  brave, 
'  Brings  now  my  spirit  sister 
From  her  sweet,  flowery  home 
Beyond  the  Sunset  Mountains, 
Seeking  her  brother  here, 
Who  watches  under  the  round  moon  ?  " 

"  Brother,"  quoth  she,  "  I'm  come, 
Sent  hither  by  Wahcondah. 
Listen  !     This  evening  late, 
As  I  was  sweetly  rambling 
In  happy  sunset-land, 
I  heard  the  sound  of  singing — 
A  wild  and  mournful  sound — 
Rise  slowly  from  this  green  earth. 
Whereat  I  came  and  stood 
Upon  the  edge  of  Sunset, 
Whence  I  might  see  the  earth, 
Where  she  lay  green  and  smiling, 
Spread  out  beneath  the  sky, 
Betwixt  the  two  Great  Waters. 

Thence  I  espied  a  hill, 
And  on  the  hill  a  death-stake, 
And  bound  fust  to  the  stake 
There  stood  a  noble  warrior, 
Whose  voice  it  was  I  heard, 
As  sang  he  there  his  war-song, 


102  SEEN    AND    HEARD. 

Telling  of  mighty  deeds 

In  words  of  joy  and  triumph. 

But,  for  all  that,  I  wept, 

So  much  did  pity  move  me, 

That  one  so  brave  and  strong 

Should  come  to  death  by  torture 

"  As  I  was  weeping  there, 
I  saw  a  mighty  shadow, 
As  of  a  mountain  thrown 
Across  the  plains  at  evening ; 
And,  looking  back,  beheld, 
Afar  off,  Great  Wahcondah 
Slowly  advancing  toward 
The  shining  edge  of  Sunset. 
But  ere  he  came  a-near, 
He  sat  down  on  a  mountain, 
His  feet  upon  the  plains, 
Where  lowed  the  monstrous  mammoth  ; 
His  head  among  the  clouds, 
Where  screamed  the  soaring  eagle, 
The  thunder  of  whose  wings 
Rejoiceth  him  as  music. 
His  eye  was  like  the  sun, 
His  eyelids  like  the  rainbow, 
And  when  he  spoke,  his  voice, 


YOOXEMSKOTA.  103 

Like  many  thunders,  whispered 
Behind  the  distant  West, 
Filled  all  the  land  with  echoes. 

"  Quoth  he,  '  Why  weep'st  thou  there, 

Fair  daughter  of  the  blue  sky  ? 

What  trouble  fills  thy  soul, 

Loved  sister  of  the  brave  heart?' 

Quoth  I,  '  Hearest  thou  that  song 

That  comes  up  from  the  green  earth  ? ' 

Quoth  he,  'I  do,  I  do; 

'Tis  Yoonemskota's  war-song.' 

Quoth  I,  '  And  must  he  burn  ?  ' 
'  No,  no ! '  quoth  the  Great  Spirit. 
'  My  rain  clouds  I  will  send, 

My  thunders  and  my  lightnings. 

My  breath  shall  waft  the  clouds 

Full  to  the  brim  with  waters, 

That  over  his  pile  shall  hang 

And  pour  down  like  Niagara, 

And  ere  his  foes  are  'ware, 

Quench  their  fierce  fire  of  vengeance. 
Have  I  not,  times  and  times, 

Warned  my  red  children  down  there 

To  cease  from  blood  and  strife, 

And  live  in  love  as  brothers  ? 


104  SEEN    AXD    HEARD 

Warned  them,  by  night,  in  dreams, 
By  day,  in  shouting  tempests  ? 
But  dreams  have  proved  as  mist, 
And  storms  as  empty  blowings. 
Now  shall  they  see  my  wrath, 
As,  till  now,  saw  they  never. 

But  hie  thee  down  to  earth, 
To  succor  Yoonemskota ; 
Seeking  thy  brother  first, 
The  warrior,  foes  call  Brave  Heart, 
Where,  on  his  grassy  peak, 
He  watches  under  the  round  moon. 
What  ho  shall  counsel,  do  ; 
For  he  shall  counsel  wisely. 
Be  not  afraid  of  aught, 
My  hand  shall  go  before  thee. 
The  night-guards  I  will  seize 
And  bind  them  fast  in  slumbers, 
And  hood-wink  them  with  dreams, 
That  they  feel  not  thy  presence. 
On  yonder  floating  cloud, 
'Twixt  day  and  night  just  hovering, 
Thou  mayest  set  out,  and  I 
Will  waft  thee  quickly  thither.'" 


YOOXEMSKOTA.  105 

HIST!   SHE  COMES. 


OjUDDENLY  waking,  he  looks  around. 
^  Surely  a  whisper  from  some  one 
Came  through  the  door  with  the  night  winds, 
Calling  his  name  with  the  word,   "  Hist!  " 

Closely  encircling,  the  night-guards 
Round  him  are  lying  in  deep  sleep ; 
Nevertheless,  in  their  clenched  hands, 
Ready  for  blood  at  the  least  stir, 
Glitter  their  hatchets  and  scalp-knives, 
Deathfully  bright  in  the  moon's  sheen. 
Tethered  is  he  to  the  two  braves 
Nearest  beside  him  ;  he  stirs  not, 
Lest  at  his  throat  their  unsheathed  knives, 
Panther-like,  leap,  and  his  death  there 
Be  as  the  deatli  of  the  wild  bull, 
Tethered  and  butchered  in  cold  blood. 

'What  have  I  dreamed?"  says  the  doomed  chief: 
Surely,  "  'twas  more  than  a  thin  dream." 

Look,  Yoonemskota  !  but  stir  not. 
What  is  it  darkening  the  lodge  door  ? 
Only  the  shadow  of  light  clouds  ' 

fittingly  crossing  the  moon's  face. 


106  SEEN    AND    HEARD. 

No!     For  above  it  is  all  blue, 
While,  with  the  shadow  thou  seest  there, 
Comes  a  soft  whisper  that  says  "  Hist !  " 
Then  'tis  that  Spirit  of  Sunset, 
Thinking  "  it  over  and  all  still," 
Coming  to  lead  thee,  by  dim  paths, 
Over  the  borders  of  ghost-land. 
No  !     For  the  shadow  thou  seest  there 
Comes  with  a  smell  of  the  wild  wood 
Floating  before  it.     It  can,  then, 
Be  but  a  maid  of  the  wild  wood, 
Fair  as  the  morning,  with  tall  form, 
Light  as  the  fawn  of  the  white  foot ; 
Hair  like  the  locks  of  the  storm  clond, 
Eyes  like  the  depths  of  the  starred  sky ; 
Coming  to  lead  thee,  by  dim  paths, 
Out  of  the  land  of  thy  fierce  foes. 

Yes,  'tis  the  child  of  the  blue  sky, 
Sister  to  him  called  the  Brave  Heart ; 
Seen  by  thee  thrice  in  the  day  past, 
Oftener  still  in  the  year  past, 
When  the  red  sweeps  of  thy  war-path 
Brought  thcc,  invisibly,  near  where, 
Quivered,  she  rambled  the  green  wood, 
Ignorant  all  of  the  dread  eye 


YOONEMSKOTA.  107 


Secretly  bent  on  her  wild  charms, 
When,  unawares,  she  bewitched  thee, 
Winning  the  love  of  thy  stern  heart. 

Warningly  lifting  her  light  hand, 
Caution  enjoining,  she  glides  in, 
Whispering — nor  silentest  night  winds 
Whisper  in  syllables  more  soft — 
•  Chieftain,  the  child  of  the  blue  sky 
Comes  with  her  light  to  release  thec ; 
Only  be  silent  and  stir  not 
Till  I  have  severed  thy  bonds/'     But, 
Shaking  his  head  with  a  stern  frown, 
Proud  Yoonemskota  forbids  her. 
'What!  be  it  said  of  a  war-chief: — 
'  Ha!     At  the  hands  of  a  young  squaw, 
Took  he  his  freedom  and  life  ! '     Ugh  ! ' 

"  Noble  Oheno,  thou  proud  chief, 
Sends  me  to  thee,  and  awaits  us 
There  on  the  top  of  the  bald  peak." 

Now  he  remembers  his  late  dream : 
What  he  has  heard  and  beheld  there, 
He  is  content  to  abide  by. 
Silently,  quickly,  with  light  hand, 
Cut  she  his  tethers  from* neck,  wrist, 
Ankle;  then  whispers,   "  Arise,  now." 


108  SEEN    AND    HEARD. 

Slowly  ho  rises  and  stands  up, 
Steps  now  astride  of  a  dark  brave  : 
Suddenly  turning,  the  dark  brave 
Clutches  his  ankle  with  fierce  grasp : 
Firm  as  a  rock,  and  as  still,  stands 
Brave  Yoonemskota  a  brief  space. 

Mutters  the  slumbering  brave  :   "  Why 
Stand  we  here  watching,  the  long  night? 
Did  he  not  burn  at  the  death-stake  ? 
Rang  not  our  cars  with  his  death-song  ? 
Quake  not  our  hearts  at  the  wild  rush 
Made  in  the  air  by  his  stern  soul 
'  When  it  was  over  and  all  still  ? ' " 
So  he  relaxes  his  fierce  grasp, 
Hoodwinked  with  dreams  by  the  Great  Spirit* 


LO!    THEY    FLY. 


OUT  at  the  door  of  the  great  lodge, 
Silent  as  silentest  night  shades, 
Captive  and  maiden  now  steal  forth. 
Swift  as  the  shapes  in  a  still  dream, 
Crossed  they  the  border  of  moonlight 


YOONEM3KOTA.  109 

Into  the  gloom  of  the  wild  wood ; 
Gliding  on  over  the  dead  leaves, 
Lightly  as  treading  on  thin  ice 
Over  the  face  of  a  deep  stream. 

Hist  I     Is  that  the  alarm-cry 
Rending  and  shaking  the  night  air  ? 
No  !     'Tis  only  the  gray  owl 
Rousing  the  echoes,  to  tell  how 
Hates  he  the  shine  of  the  full  moon. 
Hist !     Is  that  the  alarm-cry  ? 
No !     That  is  only  the  wild-cat 
Screaming  his  rage  at  the  young  fawn 
That  has  evaded  his  fell  spring. 
Hist !     But  there's  the  alarm-cry, — 
Surely,  then  rang  the  alarm-cry ! 
Xo  !     'Twas  only  the  gaunt  wolf 
Howling  his  rage  at  the  elk-stag 
That  has  eluded  his  fierce  chase. 

Noiseless  as  spectres  they  glide  on  : 
Furtively,  now,  through  the  bright  spots 
Thrown  by  the  moon  in  the  dark  woods ; 
Flittingly,  now,  through  the  dim  shades 
Thrown  by  the  woods  in  the  moon's  sheen. 
Gliding  on  over  the  dead  leaves, 


110  SEEN   AND   HEARD. 

Lightly  as  treading  on  thin  ice 
Over  the  face  of  a  deep  stream. 

' '  Hist  I  "    And  up  from  the  long  grass 
Suddenly  rises  a  tall  brave, 
Watching  there  under  the  round  moon. 

"Lightly,  more  lightly,  my  swift  ones! 
Death  may  be  dogging  vour  footsteps — 
Death,  who  disturbs  not  the  dead  leaves 
When  he  is  trailing  his  marked  prey  : 
Utters  no  cry  with  the  fell  spring 
Made  from  the  depths  of  his  dread  shades. 
Hist  1     Was  that  the  alarm-cry  ?  " 

"  Only  the  shriek  of  the  wild  cat." 
Answers  the  child  of  the  blue  sky. 

' '  Scarce  have  we  cause  for  alarm  yet ; 
Closed  are  the  doors  of  the  sharp  ear. 
Heavy  the  lids  of  the  quick  eye, 
Stiffened  the  joints  of  the  swift  limbs, 
Clouded  the  waves  of  the  clear  thought — 
When  the  repose  is  the  deep  sleep 
Following  the  rage  of  the  war-dance." 

"  Shawanee,  listen!  and  hear  now 
What  I  would  say,"  quoth  the  tall  brave. 
"  Thou  art  no  longer  among  foes, 


YOONEMSKOTA. 

Captive,  but  free  as  the  wild  horse 
Ranging  as  lists  he  the  broad  plain ; 
Free  as  the  thunder-winged  war-bird 
Spurning  the  crest  of  the  storm-cloud : 
Severed  the  pinions,  the  late  plea 
Urged  for  not  taking  the  right  hand 
Ofiered  in  sign  of  the  good-will 
Borne  thee  by  one  thou  now  know'st 
Can  be  none  else  than  thy  true  friend." 

Proud  Yoonemskota  at  last  speaks  : 
'  Did  I  not  see  one  at  moonrise, 
Known  as  Oheno  among  friends, 
Called  by  his  enemies  Brave  Heart, 
Here  on  the  top  of  this  same  hill  ? 
What  I  beheld  was  a  tall  brave 
Standing  here  watching,  his  proud  plumes 
Telling  the  course  of  the  night  winds, 
Gleaming  the  steel  at  his  war-belt ; 
Barring  the  moon  were  his  war-club, 
Quiver  and  bow.  till  her  face  showed 
Striped,  like  the  face  cf  the  young  brave 
Just  setting  out  on  his  war-path. 
Xor  was  the  warrior  alone  here : — 
Standing  beside  him,  I  saw  one 
Bright  as  the  moon  when  her  young  face 


112  SEEN   AND   HEARD. 

Shyly  she  turns  on  the  proud  earth ; 
Fair  as  the  flower  of  the  blue  eye, 
Modestly  hiding  her  wild  charms 
Under  the  shade  of  the  tall  oak." 


ff//y 


"  Even  so,"  in  answer  quoth  Brave  Heart. 
1  Here  on  the  top  of  this  same  hill 
Stood  we  together,  with  sad  hearts, 
"Watching  the  moon  as  she  came  up 
Bringing  the  hour  when  thy  death-pile 
Was  to  be  lighted.     With  sad  hearts, 
Till  we  beheld  in  the  far  West 
Something  that  promised  of  aid  near, 
Aid  at  the  hand  of  the  Great  Spirit. 
What  we  beheld  was  a  storm-cloud, 
Suddenly  heaving  its  horn'd  front 
Out  of  its  lair  in  the  West  sky, 
Wrathfully  shaking  its  shagg'd  mane 
Over  the  heads  of  the  dark  hills, 
Wrathfully  over  the  death-stake. 
Then  in  our  hearts  we  rejoiced,  saying : 
:  Lo,  'tis  the  hand  of  the  Great  Spirit, 
Lifted  on  high  in  the  whirlwind, 
Coming  to  rescue  the  doomed  one  ! 
Let  us  be  ready  to  help  save." 

Answers  the  Shawance  war-chief: 


YOONEMSKOTA.  113 

1  But  ye  arc  saving  from  just  doom 

One  who  is  foe  to  thy  tribe.     Why  ?  " 

' '  Proud  Yoonemskota,"  quoth  Brave  Heart, 
'  Listen  !  Thy  sires,  in  the  years  gone, 

Rescued  our  sire  from  the  same  fate. 

Know,  then,  and  let  it  suffice  thee, 

Why  once,  in  battle,  the  son  spared, 

Why  now  are  daughter  and  son  both 

Risking  their  lives  to  preserve  thine, 

Joining  in  paying  the  life-debt 

Left  by  our  sire  till  this  full  time." 

"  Now  am  I  willing  with  Brave  Heart," 

Quoth  Yoonemskota,  "  to  shake  hands, 

And,  in  the  smoke  of  the  peace-pipe, 

Pledge  him  my  friendship  for  all  time. 

Though  unabated  our  two  tribes 

Keep  up  their  hatred  and  fierce  strife, 

All  unabated  shall  we  two 

Keep  up  the  friendship  and  good-will 

Which  for  each  other  begins  now, 

Only  to  end  when  our  lives  end." 


114  SEEN    AND    HEARD. 

\  DOWN  THE  RIVER. 


BENEATH  them  the  mighty  Ohio  is  winding 
Its  star-spangled  length,  like  the  serpent  enskied; 
Here  glinting  the  moonbeams  in  silver-edged  dimples, 
Here  shading  yet  deeper  the  shades  of  the  woods 
That  love  to  be  near  it  to  view  their  wild  beauties, 
As,  answering  the  greeting  of  soft-kissing  winds, 
They  see  themselves  nodding  deep  down  in  its  waters, 
Where  twinkle  and  shimmer  the  moon  and  the  stars. 

"  Farewell,  and  away  with  thee,  brave  Yoonemskota!" 
Cries  noble  Oheno,  unjoining  the  grasp, 
True  pledge  of  the  friendship  begun  now  between  them — 
Between  them  forever — "  Farewell,  and  away! 
The  watch  shall  wake,  look  around,  and  not  find  thee; 
Then  rings  the  alarm — and  thy  foes  arc  swift-footed. 
Look  yonder,  where  hitherward  bends  the  Ohio, 
And  mark  the  high  cliff  overhanging  the  stream  : 
Oheno's  canoe  in  the  shadow  lies  waiting ; 
Go,  take  it,  and  speed  thee  away  to  thy  land !" 

But  why  does  the  pride  of  the  Shawanee  linger? 
Why  flees  not  at  once,  as  one  fleeing  for  life? 
Quoth  he  :  "  Let  me  speak  to  the  Wyandot  maiden 


YOOXEM3KOTA.  115 

Ere  go  I,  if  haply  I  go  not  alone. 

Bright  Cheeha-karoni,*  the  fame  of  whose  beauty 

Shines  over  the  land,  I  have  often  beheld — 

In  secret  beheld  her  as  round  yonder  village 

I  followed  my  war-path  through  thicket  and  brake : 

When  little  dreamed  she  of  the  glance  that  was  on  her, 

And  little  dreamed  I  of  the  night  that  is  come. 

Nor  have  I  alone  from  the  depths  of  my  ambush 

Beheld  her ;  but  dreaming  have  seen — and  to-night, 

As,  guarded,  I  slept  in  the  lodge  of  your  village, 

When  saw  I  and  heard  what  persuades  now  my  heart, 

That  she  has  been  sent  by  Wahcondah  to  save  me, 

And  haply  to  follow  me  hence  and  through  life. 

And  novv,  I  would  ask  if  the  Wyandot  maiden 
Be  willing  to  leave  all  and  follow  him  hence 
Whose  name  is  the  Wyandot  watchword  for  vengeance, 
Though  henceforth  the  Shawance  watchword  for  peace  ? 
When  winter  is  hoary,  my  wigwam  is  pleasant; 
When  summer  is  leafy,  then  pleasant  my  camp. 
Whatever  is  choicest,  in  stream  or  in  forest, 
For  comfort  or  ornament,  all  shall  be  hers : 
The  rarest  of  game,  and  of  wild  fruit  the  sweetest ; 
The  fairest  of  doe-skin,  the  richest  of  furs, 
The  gayest  of  plumage  and  brightest  of  wampum, 

*  Compounded  from  the  two  Wyandot  words,  ch'.ahu  (child)  and  kayhri,- 
•niatc  (eky)— child  of  the  sky. 


116  SEEN   AND   HEARD. 

The  fleetest  of  horses,  the  lightest  of  boats; 
And  ever  the  heart  of  a  Shawanec  warrior, 
Who  now,  in  his  love  for  a  Wyandot  maiden 
And  Wyandot  warrior,  shall  cease  to  remember 
The  hatred  once  felt  for  their  kindred  and  name." 

The  Wyandot  maiden  appeals  to  her  brother: 
Quoth  she  :   "  What  my  brother  shall  counsel,  I  bide." 

"  My  sister,"  quoth  he,  "  I  have  heard  Yoonemskota, 
And  please  me  his  words.     If  they  please  thee  as  well, 
Then  go !  and  the  Great  Spirit  prosper  thy  going. 
'Tis  long  after  midnight.     Farewell,  and  away!  " 

They  part  from  Oheno.     He  stands  on  the  hill-top 
And  watches  till,  far  on  the  shine  of  the  stream, 
The  flashing  of  oars  and  the  dimpling  of  waters 
Report  that  all's  well ;  then  his  own  way  he  goes. 

They  speak  not  a  word.     To  be  there  with  each  other, 
Alone  on  the  depths  of  that  beautiful  stream, 
With  starry  eyes  glancing  beneath,  as  above  them, 
Is  happiness  more  than  enough  for  them  now. 

The  starry-eyed  night  has  dismissed  her  bright  watches, 
The  young  day  is  opening  his  one-burning  eye, 
But  far  from  the  swift  foot  and  strong  hand  of  vengeance 
The  Shawanee  brave,  with  his  Wyandot  bride, 


YOOXEMSKOTA.  117 

Still  speeds  him  away,  down  the  beautiful  river — 
From  sunrise  to  sunset  still  speeds  him  away ; 
Now  westward  and  northward,  then  westward  and  southward, 
Then  winding  back  eastward,  and  never  straight  on. 

For  many  a  bend  hath  this  beautiful  river, 
As  loth  to  depart  from  this  beautiful  land, 
To  which  it  is  singing,  and  seems  to  be  saying : 
"  Ye  shores  that  are  twain,  in  one  river  be  wed, 
And  smile  on  each  other  across  my  bright  waters. 
I  do  not  divide  you,  but  plightingly  join, 
As  hither  and  thither  I  wind  me  between  you, 
To  show  how  I  love  and  embrace  you  alike." 

Another  starred  night  has  dismissed  her  bright  watches 
That  held  out  so  kindly  their  lamps  in  tlie  sky, 
Another  young  day  is  abroad  on  the  mountains 
And  fanning  the  earth  with  his  wood-scented  wings ; 
But  far  from  his  foes,  in  the  land  of  his  fathers, 
The  Shawanee  brave,  with  his  Wyandot  bride, 
Goes  tranquilly  rowing  up  mystic  Scioto* 
Toward  loved  Chillicothe,  the  home  of  his  heart. 

*  From  the  Wyandot,  scionto,  signifiying  unknown. 


118  SEEN    AND    HEARD. 


YOONEMSKOTA'S  PEACE  SONG. 


rose  a  song — 
Above  the  din  of  men, 
Above  the  rush  of  waters. 
Above  the  whirr  of  winds, 
Above  the  roar  of  tempests, 
And  echoed  on  in  dreams — 
A  song  to  gladden  the  nations. 
It  came  on  over  the  plains, 
It  went  on  over  the  mountains, 
Along  the  northern  lakes, 
Along  the  southern  rivers, 
Till  every  echo  leaped 
To  tell— and  tell  it. 
For  in  those  days  of  joy 
Sang  Shawanee  Yoonemskota, 
Xot  as  in  days  agone, 
Of  war  and  blood  and  vengeance, 
But  brotherhood  and  peace 
Among  the  tribes  of  red  men, 
Who  heard  him  and  rejoiced, 
Saying :  ' '  Can  our  ears  deceive  us  ? 
Is  that  a  song  of  peace, 
And  sung  by  Yoonemskota, 


YOONEMSKOTA.  119 

The  spirit  that  rose  in  war  ? 
Let  us  listen  and  be  joyful  I 
Let  us  listen  and  give  thanks 
To  good  and  great  "\Vahcondah  !  " 

' '  There  is  a  Hand 
Above  the  hand  of  men. 
It  leads  the  rushing  waters, 
It  guides  the  whirring  winds, 
It  sways  the  roaring  tempest, 
And  shows  itself  in  dreams — 
The  Hand  that  rules  the  nations. 
It  came  from  sunset  land, 
'Mid  thunders,  clouds  and  lightnings, 
And  drew  me  mightily  back, 
As  I,  with  joy,  was  entering 
The  fiery  doors  of  death. 
A  wiser  heart  He  gave  me, 
And  sent  me  over  the  land 
To  sing,  as  I  am  singing, 
Of  brotherhood  and  peace 
Among  the  tribes  of  red  men. 
0  brothers  !  listen  to  me, 
Your  brother,  Yooneuiskota, 
While  he  shows  forth  the  Hand, 
Its  mightiness  and  beauty, 


120  SEEN    AND    HEARD. 

That  sends  me  with  this  song — • 
The  Hand  of  Great  Wahcondah. 

' '  There  is  a  Voice 
Above  the  voice  of  men. 
It  murmurs  in  the  waters, 
It  whispers  in  the  winds, 
It  thunders  in  the  tempest, 
And  echoes  on  in  dreams — 
A  Voice  to  daunt  the  nations. 
It  comes  from  sunset  land, 
It  says,  nor  more  shall  say  it: 

'  Come  quickly  unto  me, 
Ye  warring  tribes  of  red  men  ! 
Come  on  the  path  of  peace, 
If  ye  would  reach  my  presence : 
Come  smoke  the  pipe  of  peace, 
If  ye  would  win  my  favor ! 
Come  quickly  while  I'm  near  ! 
The  sun  that  shines  above  you 
Is  ever  beaming  love  ; 
The  woods  that  wave  around  you 
Are  ever  shaking  hands  ; 
The  streams  that  sing  among  you 
Are  ever  telling  peace  ; 
The  same  Great  Father  bore  you, 


YOONEMSKOTA.  121 

And  loves  you  all  alike. 
Then  why  not  dwell  together 
In  brotherhood  and  peace  ? 
Once  more  I  bid  my  children 
Come  quickly  while  I'm  near, 
Lest  I  withdraw  my  smiling 
And  let  the  night  of  death 
Forever  thicken  round  you.' 

0  brothers!  join  with  me, 
Your  brother,  Yoonemskota, 
In  hearkening  to  that  Voice, 
The  Voice  of  Great  Wahcondah. 

' '  There  is  a  Xamc 
Above  the  name  of  men. 
'Tis  murmured  in  the  waters 
And  whispered  in  the  winds, 
'Tis  thundered  in  the  tempests 
And  echoed  on  in  dreams — 
A  Name  to  awe  the  nations. 
'Tis  sung  in  sunset  land, 
And  all  on  earth  may  sing  it, 
And  live  thereafter  blest, 
Whose  hands  go  out  in  friendship, 
Whose  hearts  delight  in  peace. 
But  none  on  earth  may  hail  it, 


122  SEEN    AND    HEARD. 

And  live  thereafter  blest, 

Whose  hands  go  out  in  vengeance, 

Whose  hearts  delight  in  war : — 

The  Name  of  Him,  the  Maker 

Of  everything  that  is — 

The  Maker  and  the  Ruler, 

And  Father  of  us  all — 

The  mightiest  of  the  mighty. 

0  brothers !  join  with  me, 
Your  brother,  Yoonemskota, 
That  all  may  hail  the  Name, 
The  Name  of  Great  Wahcondah. 
And,  brothers,  join  with  me, 
Your  brother,  Yoonemskota, 
In  sounding  over  the  land 
The  song  that  I  am  singing, 
Telling  of  love  and  peace 
Among  the  tribes  of  red  men ; 
Submission  to  the  will, 
The  will  of  Him  that's  mighty, — 
Even  the  great  Spirit's  will, — 
The  will  of  great  Wahcondah ! " 


YOONEMSKOTA. 


EPILOGUE. 


CHILDREN  of  the  pale  face,  listen ! 
^  Many  years  have  passed  me  by — 
Years  of  darkness,  day  and  night ; 
Years  of  silence,  day  and  night: 
Years  of  sorrow,  night  and  day ; — 
Since  I  sang  this  Indian  Idyll. 
Years,  when  day  was  night  prolonged — 
Night  without  its  quiet  rest, 
Night  without  its  pleasing  dreams, 
Night  without  its  holy  calm ; 
When  I  scarce  remembered  even 
Having  sung  this  Indian  Idyll. 

But  the  years  are  brightening  now : 
Far-lit  glory  cleaves  the  dark  ; 
Far-sung  music  stirs  the  hush ; 
Far-sent  joys  come  smiling  down, 
Through  the  double,  triple  night, — 
Star-like  shining,  sphere-like  singing; 
Though,  as  yet,  the  joys  that  smile, 
And  the  music  that  resounds, 
And  the  glory  that  illumes, 
Rather  seem  the  airy  things, 


124  SEEN   AND   HEARD. 

Seen  and  heard  and  felt  by  one 
Still  in  night  and  silence  dreaming. 

But,  sweet  friends,  should  I  at  last 
Wake  to  find  them  more  than  dreams ; — 
Should  so  blest  a  morning  come, 
When,  undoubting,  I  can  say, — 
' '  Lo,  I  live  !  my  night  is  past ! " 
Then  what  all  these  years  have  brought  me, 
What  the  dark,  and  what  the  hush, 
What  the  sorrow  and  remorse, 
What  the  strivings  after  good, 
What  the  lapsings  into  ill, 
What  the  dreams,  which  dreams  be  not, — 
All,  sweet  friends,  I  shall  reveal  you. 

Meanwhile,  should  ye  find  delight 
In  these  fancies  of  my  youth, 
Inasmuch  that  ye  can  say, — 
"Would  thy  youth  had  left  us  more  !  " 
Recompensed  shall  be  the  heart 
That  once  sang  this  Indian  Idyll. 
But  if  not,  then  go  your  way ! 
Go,  sweet  friends,  your  way  with  joy! 
Nor  shall  need  go  far  to  find 
Matter,  worthier  far  to  hold 


YOONEMSKOTA.  125 

Mind  and  heart  two  golden  hours 
Than  this  rambling  Indian  Idyll. 

Go,  till  days  like  these  be  ours; — 
Days  of  music  in  all  things ; — 
Music  in  the  world  that  plays, 
Music  in  the  world  that  plods, 
Music  in  the  world  that  plans ; — 
Then  I'll  bid  you  stand,  and  listen — 
Listen  while  I  sing  a  name — 
Name  that  never  poet  sang, 
Though  the  brightest  and  the  best, 
Save  the  Father  of  our  land, 
All  this  sunset  world  can  boast, — 
Even  the  name  of  great  Tecumseh. 

1852,  1868. 


THE  END  OF  TIME. 


VISION. 


DREAMED  I  was  a  wandering  ghost, 

Led  back,  perforce,  to  Time, 
Where,  hovering  o'er  th'  eternal  coast, 

I  saw  what  I  shall  rhyme. 
I  found  that  man  on  earth  was  dead, 
His  very  memory  with  him  fled ; — 

Primeval  silence  reigned. 
The  vast  designs  of  human  thought 
Had  melted,  vanished  into  naught: — 
Time — only  Time  remained  ! 

The  twilight  dim  of  man  on  earth 

In  death's  black  night  was  lost, 
And  all  the  glory  he  put  forth 

Was  gone,  like  morning  frost. 
Decay  had  laid  a  mouldering  hand 
On  all  those  works,  so  vast,  so  grand, 

(126) 


THE   EXD    OF    TIME.  127 

Reared  by  a  mighty  race  ; — 
Temple  and  tower  and  pyramid 
In  their  own  dust  lay  darkly  hid ; 

Even  ruin  showed  no  trace. 

The  sun  came  slowly  up  at  morn, 

At  eve  Aven'',  slowly  down  ; 
Forlorn  came  up,  went  down  forlorn: 

Nor  change  nor  rest  was  known. 
He  staggered  through  I  he  murky  air, 
And  in  his  eye  :i  ghastly  glare 

Presaged  the  parting  ghost. 
Last,  to  a  cinder  charred  all  black, 
He  strayed  unnoted  from  his  track, 

In  space  benighted  lost. 

Now  breathed  no  blossom-scented  morn 

No  t  vc  with  dreamy  spell ; 
No  seasons  nursed  the  golden  corn, 

Nor  rain  nor  snow-flake  fell. 
No  sound  broke  on  the  pulseless  sleep, 
No  blast  howled  o'er  the  stagnant  deep, 

And  ocean  spake  no  more  ; 
His  voic'!  of  wrath  was  mute  in  death, 
No  more  he  tossed  with  stormy  breath, 

Or  scourged  the  trembling  shore. 


128  SEEN   AND   HEARD. 

The  moon,  bereft  her  sun-born  beam, 

Groped  blindly  throug-h  the  night, 
And  scarcely  lent  the  stars  their  gleam 

To  show  for  heaven's  blest  light : 
Like  death -bed  tapers,  flickering  slow, 
They,  o'er  the  shrouded  world  below, 

Their  ghostly  vigils  kept : 
Death  roamed  bewildered,  lost  in  nought, 
And  o'er  the  ruin  he  had  wrought, 

At  last,  relenting,  wept ! 

It  was  so  still,  so  mute  on  earth, 

That  from  a  far-off  sphere, 
Seraphic  music,  pealing  forth, 

Fell  plainly  on  my  ear. 
Still  Time,  with  flight  undevious,  sped 
On,  on,  where  slept  th'  unmindful  dead! 

Till,  with  an  awful  shock 
That  shook  the  realms  of  earth  and  hell, 
The  flying  wheels  of  Time  stood  still — 

Fixed  as  th'  enduring  rock. 

Convulsive  throbbing  shook  the  world ; 

Strong  nature's  laws  seemed  lost ; 
The  stars  in  mid-sky  madly  whirled, 

Like  things  in  tempest  tost. 


THE   END   OF   TIME.  129 

And  then  on  all  hushed  silence  sank, 
And  folding  his  swart  pinions  dank, 

Death,  brooding,  watched  alone: 
The  stars  as  listeners  seem  to  stand, 
Expectant  of  some  dread  command 

From  the  Eternal  Throne. 

And  lo  !  from  heaven,  the  voice  of  God 

In  awful  accents  broke  ! 
And,  stretching  o'er  the  world  his  rod, 

He  thus  in  judgment  spoke: 
Time  !   offspring  of  eternity ! 
Time,  twin  of  mortal  destiny ! 

For  man  thy  race  is  o'er. 
Then  backward  roll,  nor  cease  to  roll, 
Till  death  his  last  dread  knell  shall  toll, 

When  thou  shalt  be  no  more  !" 

Far  through  the  realms  of  aether  wide 

His  words  in  thunder  pealed ; 
Till  worlds  to  questioning  worlds  replied, 

"  The  doom  of  time  is  sealed  !  " 
Then  o'er  the  dark  and  ruined  world, 
Backward,  resistless,  time  was  hurled, 

His  pathway  to  retrace  : 
Earth  groaned,  lest  her  abortive  womb, 


130  SEEN    AND    HEARD. 

Now  grown  the  universal  tomb, 
Might  cast  another  race. 

The  stars  lit  up  the  swarthy  sky 

With  a  bewildered  glare  ; 
Swamp-meteors,  flaring  spectrally, 

Swam  in  the  stagnant  air. 
Half  day,  half  night  enveloped  all — 
A  light,  more  like  a  funeral  pall, 

Enshrouding  nature's  breast. 
Hoarsely  old  ocean  spake  once  more ; 
And  whirlwinds  from  their  caverns  tore, 

Breaking  the  deathful  rest. 

'Twas  but  the  last  convulsive  start, 

Th'  expiring  of  the  flame  ; 
The  last  pulsation  of  the  heart, 

The  sinking  of  the  frame. 
Earth  sank  till  ocean  had  no  coast ; 
And  every  still-born,  unlaid  ghost, 

That  homeless  had  remained, 
Shrieking  and  yelling,  flew  me  past ; 
And  Death  o'er  nature's  ruins  vast, 

In  dismal  triumph  reigned. 

Still  Time,  with  speed  terrific,  rolled 
Through  that  unchanging  night; 


THE   END    OF    TIME.  131 

Xo  chronicler  his  progress  told, 

No  ages  marked  his  flight. 
When  erst  he  turned  the  future  stood 
Outstretched,  hard  on  th'  eternal  flood, 

Dwindled  to  scarce  a  thread  ; 
But  backward  forced,  had  followed  fast, 
And  now,  wide  o'er  the  lessening  past, 

Its  growing  shadow  spread. 

Unsung  by  years,  unmarked  by  man, 

As  if  from  death  he  fled, 
Silent  as  death,  his  course  he  ran, 

Where  slept  not  e'en  the  dead. 
By  hands  unseen,  still  backward  borne, 
He,  past  creation's  distant  morn, 

With  rush  impetuous,  flew  : 
When,  lo  !  a  dark,  unmeasured  sea — 
The  dread  depths  of  Eternity — 

Burst  suddenly  to  view. 

Time  heard  th'  interminable  surge, 

Low  thundering,  beat  the  strand, 
And  poised  upon  the  frightful  verge, 

A  space  did  tottering  stand  : 
Then  headlong  falling  from  the  steep, 
Down  twice  ten  thousand  fathoms  deep, 


132  SEEN   AND    HEARD. 

In" mystery  profound, 
He  sank  beneath  the  shoreless  tide, 
And  o'er  his  head,  in  circles  wide, 

The  whirlpool  eddied  round. 

In  grief,  the  heavenly  spheres  sublime 

Put  on  the  garb  of  woe, 
And  sang  the  requiem  of  old  Time 

With  solemn  chant  and  slow. 
And  as  they  sang  his  funeral  dirge, 
The  heaving  of  th'  eternal  surge 

A  mighty  measure  kept ; 
Till  far  o'er  starry  solitude 
The  chant,  majestic,  yet  subdued, 

In  mournful  echoes  swept. 

A  lifeless,  tideless,  timeless  world, 

Lost  in  th'  eclipse  of  night, 
Through  waving  aether  still  was  hurle 

By  Omnipresent  Might. 
And  last  I  saw,  or  seemed  to  see, 
The  ocean  of  eternity 

Send  forth  a  mystic  cloud 
That  fell  on  Nature's  endless  rest, 
And  folded  earth's  sepulchral  breast 

In  its  oblivious  shroud. 

1850,  1868. 


BLINDNESS. 


JIGHT  of  my  darkened  path,  a  moment  stay! 
With  hand  attentive,  thou  hast  led  me  far, 
Since  from  the  grass  at  early  dawn  we  brushed 
The  glittering  dew,  and  greeted  gratefully 
Upon  the  hill  the  joy-dispensing  morn. 
With  rambling,  thou  art  weary,  gentle  friend ; 
This  grassy,  wooded  knoll  invites  repose- — 
Here  let  us  take  our  leave  of  waning  day. 

The  red-bird  blithe,  and  sad-voiced  whip-poor-will, 
Are  leading  in  the  slow-paced  summer  eve ; 
A  thousand  insects  hum  their  vesper  hymn  ; 
The  mellow  lowing  of  the  distant  herds, 
The  neigh  of  horses  and  the  bleat  of  sheep, 
Mingling  accordant,  soothe  the  listening  ear, 
And  love  for  Him  inspire  who  made  them  all. 
The  reapers,  homeward  from  their  half-shorn  fields, 
With  jest  and  laugh  and  jocund  sound  abound. 
All  living  things  seem  glad ;  and  I  with  them 
Rejoice,  though  all  around,  to  me,  is  night — 

12  (133) 


134  SKEX    AND    HEARD. 

A  night  so  dark  that  I  perceive  it  not, 

And  only  know  it  by  its  lack  of  change. 

Day  follows  day,  night  follows  night;  yet  day 

Is  naught  to  me  but  round  of  \rakefulness 

And  sad  renewal  of  my  darkness.      "  Night 

Brings  back  my  day,"  when  friendly  sleep  sets  free 

My  prisoned  soul,  to  roam  at  will  through  dreams, 

Where  light  once  more  upon  my  vision  breaks, 

And  cheering  face  of  man  mine  eyes  behold, 

Of  brighter  days  reminding.     Sweet  to  me 

Is  dreaming,  empty  though  it  be  to  minds 

With  joys  more  stable  blessed;  and  to  thec,  Night, 

Who  bringcth  light  in  dreams,  deep  thanks  I  owe! 

But  oft  I'm  sad,  Pcnsylla,  that  mine  eyes 
Are  shut  forever  from  the  sight  of  things 
By  God  created  for  the  joy  of  man, 
And  ope  to  naught  but  ever-brooding  ni^ht, 
Whose  foster  child  I  am  become  since  day, 
My  natural  mother,  long  has  deemed  me  dead. 

What  gloom  !    A  wall  of  shades,  a  dome  of  clouds ! 
A  sunless,  moonless,  starless  sky,  it  hangs 
Betwixt  me  and  the  spangled  blue  of  heaven. 
Earthward  I  turn  mine  eyes,  and  back  recoil 
At  such  unflinching  darkness.     Heavenward,  then: 
'Tis  all  a  void — a  universal  void — 


BLINDNESS.  135 

And  man  a  wandering,  viewless  voice  in  air ! 

I'm  lost  in  this  infinitude  of  night, 

To  which  no  bounds,  by  space  or  time,  seem  fixed. 

But,  say !   can  darkness  circumscribe  the  range 
Of  thought — thought  boundless  as  immensity — 
And  smother  in  its  folds  that  heavenly  spark 
Which  flashed  from  God's  own  brightness  and  inspired 
The  new-born  man  with  immortality  ? 
Look  up,  my  sorrowing  soul!  nor  quench  thy  fires 
In  unavailing  grief.      To  mortal  ken, 
Unsearchable  are  ways  of  Providence. 
For  higher  sphere  than  this  thou  art  ordained ; 
Beneficent  death  alone  can  end  thy  night, 
And,  with  night,  end  thy  doubts,  thy  fetters  break, 
Thy  sorrows  heal,  and  usher  thcc  to  life, 
Where  day  rolls  on  without  a  vesper  wane, 
Where  light  is  God's  own  presence,  and  that  light 
Forever  at  its  zenith.     I  will  mourn 
No  more,  nor  with  unmanly  sorrow  Him 
Upbraid,  but  close  riiine  eyes  and  be  resigned 
To  momentary  darkness,  since  from  God 
It  comes,  as  well  as  light.     If  I  have  mourned, 
'Twas  but  the  natural  weakness  of  the  flesh. 

Pcnsylla,  to  the  closing  gates  of  day 
Now  turn  thine  eyes  ; — thy  sight  is  sight  to  me — 


136  SEEN   AND   HEARD. 

Thou  art  the  lamp  of  my  benighted  steps. 
Thou  seest  the  sun,  slow  merging  in  a  sea 
Of  liquid  gold,  shooting  his  tangent  beams 
Sheer  o'er  the  earth,  into  the  glimmering  East, 
He  rises,  and  shows  forth  our  nether  world; 
He  sets,  and  lo !  the  moon  and  starry  host, 
Like  sparks  sent  glancing  from  the  eternal  sun, 
Rejoicing,  on  their  nightly  rounds  appear. 
With  solemn  mien,  they  tread  the  azure  plain; 
Distant,  yet  in  their  numbers  speaking  power ; 
Silent,  yet  in  their  glory  telling  praise. 

Thus  set  my  day — thus  my  long  night  approached 
And  may  my  night,  ere  its  meridian — death — 
Impend,  some  excellence  in  me  reveal 
Which  God  may  deign,  in  future  time,  to  own. 

1852,  1868. 


DEATH  OF  A  ROSE. 


TO    A    YOUNG    LADY    IN    THE    FIRST    BLOOM    OF    CONSUMPTION. 


LUSHING  amid  her  leaflets  green, 

A  ROSE  I  spied  one  soft  May  morn, 
Her  flushed  cheek  bright  with  limpid  sheen 

Of  glistening  dews  in  starlight  born — 
A  rose  most  beautiful. 
Her  fair  form,  steeped  in  lucid  light, 
Stood  bending  to  the  kissing  gale 
That  lingered  on  his  changeful  flight, 
To  woo,  with  many  an  amorous  tale, 
The  ROSE  so  beautiful. 

But  vain  was  wooing,  sighing  vain ; 

The  rose  remembered  one  bright  star 
That  nightly  walked  the  spangled  plain, 

Behind  the  moon's  refulgent  car, 
In  radiant  solitude. 

1-  (137, 


138  SEEN    AND    HEARD. 

As  late  he  traced  his  pathway  blue, 

lie  peered  down  on  the  dream-bound  world, 

And  spied  there,  bathed  in  sorrowing  dew, 
The  ROSE,  with  all  her  charms  unfurled, 
In  blushing  solitude. 

Then  forthwith  from  her  beauteous  cheek 

She,  smiling,  shook  the  limpid  tear, 
And  upward  turned  her  face  to  speak, 

In  voice  of  perfume,  none  may  hear, 

Of  love  unchangeable. 
Down  softly  stole  an  answering  beam — 

It  slid  down  through  the  twilight  sad — 
And  lighting,  like  an  angel's  dream, 

Brought  to  the  rose  the  tidings  glad 
Of  love  unchangeable. 

The  gale  departed  with  a  moan, 

Yet  on  his  wings  her  perfume  sweet 
Still  lingered,  like  a  silent  tone 

That  haunts  where  shades  and  echoes  meet 

In  halls  of  memory ; 
Where  hopes  lie  dead,  though  buried  ne'er; 

Where,  like  the  lost  lay  of  a  lute, 
Lives  love's  sweet  song,  though  hushed  fore'er ; 

For  unseen  shades  and  echoes  mute 
Do  dwell  in  memory. 


DEATH    OF    A    HOSE. 

Drooping  amid  her  leaflets  scar, 

The  ROSE  I  spied  one  summer  night, 
Her  pale  cheek  bright  with  sorrow's  tear, 

Her  wan  form  steeped  in  pensive  light ; 

Still  she  was  beautiful. 
Her  blighted  charms  soon  strewed  the  ground, 

When  every  tuneful  wind  that  blows, 
"With  muffled  wings,  came  whispering  round, 

To  sing  tho  requiem  of  the  ROSE  : — 
In  death,  still  beautiful. 

A  thousand  tremulous  drops  of  light, 

Like  flaming  dew,  the  sky  besprent; 
But  hers,  of  all  most  pure  and  bright, 
A  star-beam  from  his  mansion  sent, 

With  joy  unspeakable, 
To  bear  from  earth's  ephemeral  bowers 
Her  perfume-soul,  so  light  and  free, 
Up  to  the  spirit-land  of  flowers, 
Where  odors  sweet  sing  audibly 
Of  bliss  unspeakable. 

1853. 


TWICE  IN  FANCY. 


T. 

ER  eye  was  bright  with  Elysian  light, 
And  shining  as  morning  her  hair, 
And  pure  was  her  face  with  angelic  grace — 
Ah,  she  was  entrancingly  fair  ! 


High  on  her  brow  of  sun-steeped  snow 
Thoughts  lucid  radiance  gleamed, 

And  the  light  of  love,  like  that  above, 
In  her  eyes  ineffably  beamed. 

In  delicate  chase  o'er  her  beauteous  face 
Blithe  smiles  were  wont  to  play 

Like  sunbeams  sweet  that,  dancing,  meet 
On  the  morning  face  of  day. 

As  oft  she  dreamed,  truth's  sunlight  seemed 
On  her  clear,  chaste  forehead  lying, 

And  softly  driven,  came  visions  of  heaven, 
Like  bands  of  angels  flying. 

(140) 


TWICE   IN   FANCY.  141 

Her  form,  as  airy  as  that  of  a  fairy 

In  motion,  a  sunbeam  shone  ; 
And  her  tresses  so  bright,  as  a  halo  of  light, 

Around  her  graces  thrown. 

In  her  pathway  grew,  all  spangled  with  dew, 

The  violet,  rose  and  lily  ; 
In  her  presence  so  mild  day  warmed  and  smiled, 

Night  sank  to  dreams  more  stilly. 

But  when  she  spoke,  such  music  broke 

As  made  all  melody  mute ; 
As  each  sweet  sound  rang  resonant  round, 

It  was  as  a  soul-struck  lute. 

It  passed  me  by,  like  an  angel's  sigh, 

Then  slept  in  memory's  hall, 
Where  often  still,  like  a  flowery  rill, 

I  hear  it  rise  and  fall. 

That  shape,  so  bright  that  it  dazzled  light, 

Beamed  but  to  disappear ; 
And  such  charms,  I  ween,  no  eye  hath  seen — 

Such  music,  heard  no  ear ! 


142  SEEN    AND    1IEAKD. 

Like  an  orient  morn,  'twas  in  fancy  born; 

In  fancy  it  faded  like  even: 
It  passed  away  at  the  dawn  of  day — 

It  was  but  a  dream  of  heaven ! 


II. 

Another  came,  like  a  cold,  dark  flame, 

And  summer,  all  withered,  fled; 
With  a  shuddering  shriek,  came  winter  bleak, 

And  blossoming  joys  dropped  dead. 

Her  eye  was  bright  with  a  fatal  light, 

And  sable  as  night  her  hair, 
And  frigid  her  face  as  a  sculptured  Grace — 

Ah  !   she  was  fearfully  fair ! 

Athwart  her  brow  of  moon-steeped  snow 
Flashed  ominous  gleams  of  thought, 

While  her  shadowy  rings,  like  death's  swart  wings 
A  double  darkness  wrought. 


In  fitful  chase  o'er  her  pallid  face, 
Like  shadows  of  clouds  o'er  snow, 

The  dark  smiles  crept,  and  her  cold  breath  swept 
All  sights  from  earth  but  woe. 


TWICE    IX    FANCY.  143 

As  oft  she  dreamed,  a  nightmare  seemed 

On  her  heart  to  lay  its  weight, 
And  a  chill  of  dread  her  face  o'erspread. 

Like  rime  on  a  marble  Fate. 


As  oft  she  frowned,  all  darkened  round  ; 

The  sun  was  lost  at  noon  : 
Day  mocked  the  gloom  of  the  rayless  toinb, 

Night  mourned  a  sightless  moon. 

In  her  pathway  grew  the  night-shade  and  yew, 

All  rigid  with  glittering  sleet, 
And  the  lichen  dun,  that  scarce  knows  the  sun, 

And  knows  no  balmy  sweet. 

On  her  silvery  tongue  chill  accents  hung, 

That  dropped  with  an  icy  tinkle, 
And  the  frozen  tones  brought  stifled  groans, 

Heart-ache,  wan  youth,  and  wrinkle. 

They  by  me  passed  like  a  phantom  blast, 

Then  crept  into  memory's  hall, 
Where  often  still,  like  an  ice-bound  rill, 

I  hear  them  swell  and  fall. 


144  SEEN   AND   HEARD. 

From  that  shape  of  night,  so  darkly  bright, 

My  spirit  shrank  in  fear ; 
And  such  charms,  I  ween,  no  eye  hath  seen, 

Such  music,  heard  no  ear! 


Like  an  arctic  morn,  'twas  in  fancy  born ; 

In  fancy  it  dusked,  like  even : 
It  fled  away  at  the  dawn  of  day — 

'Twas  not  a  dream  of  heaven  ! 

1853,  1868. 


MY  DREAM  OF  PENSYLLA. 


|HERE  shone  an  angel  in  my  sleep, 

That  still,  when  waking,  haunts  my  soul: 
Down  brightly  through  th'  ethereal  deep, 

She  on  my  raptured  visions  stole 
In  dreamy  silentness : 
And  floating  in  the  star-lit  air 

On  wafting  clouds  of  rosy  light, 
A  shape,  methought,  more  wondrous  fair 
Xe'er  beamed  from  heaven  on  mortal  sight 
In  dreams  and  silentness. 

In  beauty  hovering  o'er  my  head, 

She  smiled  and  beckoned  me  away, 
And  swift  as  light  my  spirit  fled 

From  this  worn  tenement  of  clay 

In  trembling  ecstasy ; 
And  with  that  messenger  of  heaven 

Ascended  on  her  rosy  car, 

13  (145) 


146  SEEN   AND   HEARD. 

By  pinioned  zephyrs  swiftly  driven, 

Through  realms  where  shimmered  many  a  star 
In  radiant  ecstasy. 


Down,  down  I  looked!  and  lo !  the  earth, 

Now  than  the  moon  no  bigger  grown, 
With  all  her  haunts  of  woe  and  mirth, 

On  my  far-reaching  vision  shone 

In  airy  solitude ; 
And,  as  a  flash,  world  after  world, 

That  once  as  twinkling  lamps  had  seemed, 
In  tracks  of  glory  by  us  whirled, 

While,  with  their  far-heard  whispers,  teemed 
Ethereal  solitude. 

Ere  long,  there  dawned  a  fairer  morn, 

E'en  on  that  day  of  fairest  light, 
And  on  our  chariot-cloud  still  borne, 

And  rising,  in  our  devious  flight, 

Through  starred  infinitude, 
A  world  bewildering  on  me  burst, 

Where  sheen  dimmed  sheen,  blaze  blinded  blaze : 
Where  bright  shapes  grouped,  or  far-dispersed, 

With  harping  strains  and  choral  praise, 
Filled  heaven's  infinitude. 


MY   DREAM   OF   PENSYLLA.  147 

As  we  drew  near  the  crystal  walls, 

Which,  fringed  with  points  of  lambent  fire, 
Shone  lucent  round  the  heavenly  halls, 

My  angel  guide  struck  her  soft  lyre 

With  touch  so  magical 
That  straight  the  golden  portals  oped, 

And,  thronging  out  in  glistening  streams, 
They,  who  on  earth  had  mourned  and  hoped, 

Chimed  forth  a  welcome  soft  as  dreams. 
In  music  magical. 

The  chariot-cloud  of  rosy  hue, 

In  light  that  zoned  the  Mount  of  God, 
Merged,  like  enchantment  from  the  view, 

And  we  on  solid  aether  trod. 

'Mid  wonders  infinite, 
I  took  my  way,  in  silent  awe, 

Along  the  amaranth-bordered  road, 
And  groups  of  stately  seraphs  saw, 

WThere  joys  perennial  ripened,  glowed, 
In  Wisdom  Infinite. 

Now,  in  the  vision  of  my  sleep, 

My  angel  guide,  enshrined  in  light, 
Showed  me  a  lone  star -beacon  steep 

Which,  midway  raised  above  all  height, 


148  SEEN   AXD   HEARD. 

O'erlooked  immensity. 
And  when,  with  speed  outstripping  dreams, 

Its  opal  summit  we  had  scaled, 
All  steeped  in  truth's  eternal  beams, 

The  blest  we  saw,  with  brightness  veiled, 
Shine  through  immensity. 


Then  the  celestial  vision  spoke 

In  tones  that  ne'er  an  echo  found, 
But  in  my  dreaming  spirit  woke 

The  phantom  of  an  earthly  sound 

That  haunted  memory. 
Soft  as  a  twilight  shade,  it  came — • 

It  did  my  inmost  soul  enchant ; 
0  transport !  'twas  Pensylla's  name — 

A  name,  I  ween,  that  well  might  haunt 
An  angel's  memory ! 

:  0  mortal  of  the  dreaming  soul ! 

Not  yet  for  thee  these  beauties  glow, 
Not  yet  is  reached  thy  earthly  goal ; — 
Thy  destiny,  still  linked  below, 
Holds  thee  from  Paradise. 
For,  like  the  whirr  of  angel  wings, 
Far  o'er  the  future  shadowy  waste, 


MY    DREAM    OF   PENSYLLA.  149 

A  mighty  voice  of  glory  sings, 

Which  thou  must  win  ere  thou  canst  taste 
The  joys  of  Paradise." 


And  as  she  spoke,  such  tears  I  wept 
As  ne'er  before  told  sorrow's  tale ; 
For  o'er  my  soul  the  memory  crept 
Of  shades  and  pains  down  in  this  vale 

Of  gloomy  emptiness. 
Heaven's  joys  must  fade  where  tears  are  shed, 

And,  like  the  sun-born  arch  of  even, 
From  my  rapt  gaze  Pensylla  fled, 
And  with  her  faded  light  and  heaven 
In  gloom  and  emptiness. 

1853. 


DREAMING. 

A  FRAGMENT. 


SUBJECT :    THE    BEGINNING    OF    A    DREAM. 


jjEEP  in  the  brain's  mysterious  core, 
Ere  veiled  from  waking  sight 
By  clouds  of  dreamy  light, 
There  is  a  secret  postern  door, 
Watched  nightly  by  that  gentle  warder,  Sleep, 
Who,  waiting,  with  obsequious  hand 

Oft  turns  the  golden  key, 
When  straight  that  magic,  mystic  land, 

Which  only  dreamers  see, 
Outstretching  far  its  shadowy  strand, 
Is  spied,  broad  shimmering  o'er  the  starry  deep, 
Gorgeous  and  vast,  yet  undefined,    . 
Till,  taking  shape  ere  long, 
Its  glorious  visions  throng 
The  unknown  chambers  of  the  mind. 

(150) 


DREAMING.  151 

And  when  the  prisoned  soul  espies 

This  postern  door  ajar, 

Free  as  an  errant  star, 
Forth  to  that  mystic  land  she  hies, 
To  walk  familiar  with  some  mighty  shade ; 
Or,  pensive,  muse  by  haunted  springs 

That  shun  the  eye  of  noon ; 
Or,  blithesome,  join  in  fairy  rings, 

By  glimpses  of  the  moon, — 
Herself  a-poise  on  buoyant  wings; 
Then  skimming  off  o'er  stream  and  wood  and  glade, 
Till  all  is  mist  before  the  eye, 

And  from  a  splendid  dream 

Conies  scarce  a  golden  beam 
.  To  gild  the  halls  of  memory. 

But  oft  the  deepest  deep  is  stirred, 

The  innermost  awakes, 

When  o'er  the  spirit  breaks 
Music  that  flesh  hath  never  heard. 
Then  are  the  mysteries  of  fate  laid  bare ; 

Far  gleams  of  life  shine  through  the  tomb, 

Death  and  immortal  Being, 
Blending,  their  natural  shapes  assume ; 

Glimpses  of  the  All-seeing, 
Sublime  in  beauty,  cleave  the  gloom  ;  « 


152  SEEN    AND    HEARD. 

Worlds  unimagined  fill  the  realms  of  air, 
And  words  that  make  e'en  angels  dumb, 

In  wondrous  measures,  tell 

Of  bliss  ineffable — 
Symphonious  of  the  life  to  come. 

And  thus  it  chanced,  one  summer  night, 
While  slumber  held  me  fast, 
That  memories  of  the  past, 
Entwining  with  vagaries  bright, 
The  grotesque  fabric  of  a  vision  wove. 

My  narrow  room,  I  dreamed  ****** 

1857. 


FRAGMENT. 


SUBJECT  :    SOME    UN-GENUS-ED  FLOWER,  SUCH  AS  MAY  OFTEN  BE 
FOUND  IN  THE  GARDENS  OF  FANCY,  IF  NOT  ELSEWHERE. 


*  *  *  #  * 

HE  diamond  dews  that  gleam  at  morn, 

The  singing  gales  that  blithely  blow, 
And  bees  that  wind  the  early  horn, 

Through  all  her  buds  transfuse  the  glow 
Of  waking  blissfulness. 
The  pearly  dews  that  shine  at  even, 

The  whispering  winds  that  softly  creep, 
And  flies  that  mock  the  lamps  of  heaven, 
Through  all  her  bloom,  induce  the  sleep 
Of  dreaming  blissfulness. 

When  morn  withdraws,  with  rosy  hand, 

Night's  spangled  veil,  broidered  with  dreams, 

And  spreads  out  o'er  the  laughing  land 
A  lucid  web  of  golden  dreams, 
Like  girlhood's  innocence, 

In  budding  beauties,  she's  arrayed  ; 
While  many  a  shrub  of  thickest  green 

(153) 


154  SEEN   AND   HEARD. 

Weaves  o'er  her  head  a  bowery  shade, 
From  th'  ardent  eye  of  day  to  screen 
Her  tender  innocence. 

When  noon,  with  steep  descending  ray, 

Checkering  the  groves  with  glimmering  spots, 
Drives  hill-side  elf  and  woodland  fay 

To  secret  haunts  of  twilight  grots, 

Like  maiden's  chastity, 
With  morning  dew  still  fresh  and  bright, 

Her  buds  she  opens  to  the  sun  ; 
Yet  courts  she  not  his  broadest  light, 

Nor  coyly  seeks  his  glance  to  shun, — 
So  true  is  chastity. 

When  day  in  mellow  haze  declines, 

And  pensive  shadows  bar  the  scene, 
And,  shooting  far  in  slanting  lines, 

The  sunbeams  gild  the  waving  green, 

Like  woman's  loveliness, 
Tinged  with  the  purest  hues  of  heaven, 

In  beauty  full,  mature,  she  stands, 
And  when  the  solemn  shades  of  even 

All  things  enshroud,  still  she  expands 
In  ripening  loveliness. 

1859. 


PREFACE  TO  WHAT  FOLLOWS. 


ONE  beautiful  morning  in  June— the  month  "  when,  if  ever, 
come  perfect  days"— a  maiden,  beautiful  and  summery  as  the 
morning,  gave  me  a  rose,  and  begged  of  me  a  ballad.  I  had 
never  written  a  ballad  in  all  my  life — a  thing  beyond  me  ;  never- 
theless, I  had  the  hardihood  to  venture  a  promise,  trusting  that 
then,  if  ever,  inspiration  would  come  upon  me.  So,  with  some 
adjuring  words,  I  called  on  Fancy,  and  bade  her  furnish  me  with 
some  image  or  picture  suitable  to  the  gift— worthy  of  the  giver. 

With  compliant  hand,  slowly  she  unrolled  her  varied  pano- 
rama ;  the  airy  canvas  bringing,  in  shifting  review  before  me, 
image  after  image,  picture  after  picture  — all  pleasing  enough,  it 
is  true,  but  not  with  the  spell  of  music  upon  them,  that  I  should 
bid  my  harp  awake  and  try  them.  Yet,  as  they  pleased  me,  and 
I  would  not  they  should  be  lost,  I  hastened,  ere  the  receiving- 
roller  caught  them  from  view,  to  embody  them  in  words  as  faith- 
i'ully  as  might  be,  hoping  the  while  that  each  succeeding  revolu- 
tion of  the  dispensing-roller  would  yet  unfold  to  me  some  image 
or  conception  that  might  be  wed  to  music.  But,  on  a  sudden,  the 
airy  panorama  stood  still,  the  scenic  lights  went  out,  the  curtain 
dropped  ;  and  lo  !  for  the  promised  ballad,  nothing  had  I  to  show 
but  this  piece  of  crystallized  prose. 


(155) 


THE  APOCALYPSE  OF  THE  SEASONS. 


A  SPRING  MORNING. 


the  bright  threshhold  of  her  orient  towers, 
The  morn,   advancing,   strokes  with  wakening 

palm 

The  dewy  forehead  of  the  slumbering  Earth  ; 
And,  as  she  comes,  her  ruddy  steps  imprint 
The  peaked  clouds,  as  if  the  beautiful  feet 
Of  them  that  bring  glad  tidings  were  abroad 
On  those  ethereal  mountains.     Awake  !   come  forth, 
My  fair  one ;  let  us  hence  to  greet  her  steps, 
Ere  from  the  flowery  lap  of  hazy  dell 
And  breezy-wooded  top  of  burnished  hill 
The  sun-bright  borders  of  her  misty  skirts 
She  gather  staid  about  her,  and  withdraw, 
In  waning  beauty,  from  the  earth.     See,  lady, 
With  rosy,  beckoning  hand,  and  nods,  that  send 
Her  locks  ambrosial  flowing  on  the  winds, 
She  bids  us  come ;  and  in  these  prismed  dews, 

(156) 


THE  APOCALYPSE   OF   THE  SEASONS.  157 

Let  fall  by  night  in  silent  benediction, 
Behold  her,  how  she  multiplies  her  smiles 
Of  greeting,  bright  with  pledges  of  the  joys 
Dispensed  to  all  that  court  her  earliest  beams. 

Blithe  is  her  light  that,  from  the  starred  expanse 
Of  aether's  serene  ocean,  wells  and  floods, 
"With  amber  billows,  half  our  "  sphery  isle." 
And  sweet  her  breath,  whether  from  humid  depths 
Of  waving  shade  it  comes,  or  grain-fields  glad 
With  waving  sunshine,  or  from  garden-bowers 
Of  vines,  inwoven  with  enamelling  bloom. 

And  pleasant  is  the  voice  of  moro,  fair  lady, 
Which,  into  many  a  rural  descant  wrought, 
And  cadence  long  drawn  out,  thou  canst  not  choose 
But  hear,  delighted,  in  the  lyric  streams 
That  leap  hilarious  from  the  jubilant  hills, 
And  minstrel  winds  that  sweep  with  whirring  hands 
Th'  aeolian  boughs  of  resonant  groves,  and  sway 
Them  into  airy  bowers  of  harmony ; 
In  the  brisk  clarion  of  her  herald-bird 
And  cheery  hum  of  busy,  foraging  bee ; 
In  school-boy's  whistle,  keen  and  brave,  and  song 
Of  ploughman,  wafted  o'er  the  rustling  maize. 
But  more  delighted  shalt  thou  be  if  once 
Thou  hear  it  in  the  sylvan  matin-song 
Of  all  these  happy,  buxom  little  birds, 


158  SEEN   AXD    HEARD. 

That,  -whistling,  piping,  trilling,  warbling,  cooing, 
Fill  earth  and  echoing  sky,  e'en  to  the  gates 
Of  Glory,  with  melodious  joy  and  praise. 

But  sweetest  shalt  thou  find  the  voice  of  morn 
If,  in  the  full  and  blended  harmony 
Of  all  these  sounds,  thou  hear  it  and  bethink 
Thee  of  the  deep  significance  expressed 
Therein  of  youth  and  visionary  days ; 
When  life,  with  painted  fantasies,  o'er-vapored, 
Seems  but  a  voyage  across  aerial  seas ; 
Whose  past,  a  dream,  unbroken  by  the  present, 
And,  in  the  future,  gathering  glory  still; 
Whose  thoughts  and  fancies  but  the  nebulous  glow 
Of  passions  in  the  soul's  immensity ; 
Whose  hope,  a  star,  that  scarce  hath  need  to  beam 
Where  th'  ever-present  sun  of  gladness  shines. 


A  SUMMER  NOON. 


THE  morn  is  past,  Pensylla.     Day,  in  prime, 
Stands  on  the  summit  of  his  shining  arch, 
With  nought  distinguishable  to  outward  view, 
T'  impersonate  his  universal  presence, 


THE   APOCALYPSE*OF   THE  SEASONS.  159 

Save  his  one  burning  eye  of  living  light. 

In  field  and  bushy  wild  the  birds  are  mute, 
The  welcoming  strains  of  whose  glad  minstrelsy 
Led  in  the  hours  of  morn,  as  if  her  dews 
Were  wanting  to  attune  their  feathery  pipes. 
In  scattered  dots  of  slowly  shifting  shade, 
The  flocks  and  herds,  now  with  cropped  herbage  filled, 
Composed  and  ruminating,  wait  the  even. 

Not  in  the  ruffled  crest  of  verduous  hill, 
Nor  dimpled  sheen  of  glassy-sliding  stream, 
Is  there  betrayal  of  a  single  gust, 
Strayed  vagabond.     How  tremulous  the  air 
With  heat!     Yet,  t'  eye  and  ear,  how  still  withal! 
'Tis  midnight's  hush,  with  radiance  over-laid. 

And  yet  'tis  but  the  calm  of  conscious  power : 
por  Day,  as  mustering  all  his  virtuous  spells, 
Now  holds  the  earth  with  deep,  magnetic  rays, 
Transfusing  through  her  huge,  quiescent  frame 
Perennial  vigor,  generative  warmth  ; 
And  to  the  verdure  of  her  sloping  zones 
Imparting  riper  hues.      The  flowers  resign 
Their  last  sweet  moisture  to  his  thirsting  beams, 
In  lieu  of  richer  dyes,  more  solid  sweets ; 
The  harvest  goldens  ?neath  his  ripening  touch, 
From  pale  to  darker  red  the  berries  turn, 
And  o'er  the  apple's  olive  cheek  there  steals 


160  SEEN   AND    HEARD. 

A  ruddier  glow.     Yet  vanished  by  no  means, 
Nor  shall  be,  e'en  when  summer's  prime  be  passed, 
All  signs  of  vernal  immaturity  ; — 
Seen  in  these  Indian  files  of  tasselling  maize, 
And  orchards  hung  with  crude,  unsavory  green, 
Which  autumn,  mellowing  evening  of  the  year, 
"With  tempering  frost,,  to  yellow  ripeness  brings, 
To  purple  sweets  and  red  deliciousness. 

Day  again  moves — his  noon  crossed,  soon  as  reached. 
And  now,  betwixt  him  and  his  distant  morn, 
Begins  to  rise  his  crowning  summit,  Eve, 
Though  still  dim  in  the  magic  haze  of  distance, 
In  nearer  view  before  him.     Towards  the  East, 
Slowly,  the  trees  their  dial  shadows  turn, 
And  cheerily  a-field  the  fanner  drives 
His  lumbering  reaper,  whose  revolving  reel, 
With  slow,  successive  stroke,  bends  the  tall  grain, 
Compliant  to  the  jagged  sickle-edge 
Of  the  fast-cutting,  level  knife  that  strews 
The  smooth-shorn  field  with  sheaves  of  unbound  gold. 

A  busy,  blithesome  tune  this  reaper  sings, 
As  close  at  hand  it  rolls  along  the  field, 
With  nicest  cunning,  clipping  the  yellow  skirts 
Of  Ceres,  as  it  goes.     Receding  now, 
Its  softened  clamor,  like  the  hum  of  bees, 


THE    APOCALYPSE    OF    THE   SEASONS.  101 

Cheerily  down  the  stubbly  vista  comes. 

Now  hid  from  view  behind  the  shaven  crown 

Of  yonder  low-browed  hill,  its  muffled  din, 

Like  some  far  watery  roar,  heard  through  the  depths 

Of  drowsy  woods,  provokes  the  listening  ear 

To  listen  still,  and  yet,  and  yet  again ; 

Till  silence,  for  a  space,  holds  all  the  air. 

But  scarce  the  echoes  from  their  leafy  perch 
Have  ceased  their  quavering  hubbub,  when,  once  more, 
Obstreperous,  round  yon  bearded  knoll  it  comes, 
And  with  it,  what  delights  the  listener  most, 
Heart-easing  laughter,  shout,  and  brisk  hurrah. 
And  labor-cheering  song,  that  tell  the  praise 
To  bounteous  Nature,  inly  sung,  while  Day 
And  Harvest,  hand  in  hand,  together  wane. 


AN  AUTUMN  EVENING. 

AND  now  the  mellowing  hours  bring  on  the  Eve, 
My  fair  one.      Pensive,  on  the  quiet  scene, 
Her  lengthening  shadows  lie  of  woods  and  hills, 
And  wreathing  smoke,  betokening  homely  cheer. 

From  shedded  hay-ricks  and  broad-breasted  stacks, 
From  stubble  dun  and  meadows  shorn,  yet  green 

14' 


162  SEEN    AND    HEARD. 

Again,  and  smell  of  lingering  flowers,  that  tell 
Where  Summer's  golden  sandals  last  were  seen, 
Comes  what,.immingled,  seems  the  memory  sweet 
Of  incense  breathed  at  morn,  now  purer  grown 
By  passage  through  the  filtering  fires  of  Noon. 
From  vocal  streams,  whose  liquid  choruses 
Meet  Silence  midway  in  her  soft  descent ; 
From  choral  winds  that  fill,  with  whispered  hymns, 
The  mossy  aisles  of  leafy-vaulted  woods, 
And  birds  that  pour  their  warbled  ecstasies 
O'er  the  bright  edge  of  Day's  decline,  and  song 
Of  jocund  laborers,  homeward  wending,  come 
What  seem  sweet  echoes  of  the  voice  of  morn, 
Heard  through  the  interflow  of  noontide  air. 
Such  anthems  Eve,  in  sign  of  worship,  sings; 
Such  incense  breathes,  in  sign  of  thankfulness. 
Pure  is  her  light  that  erst,  as  orient  light, 
From  aether's  serene  ocean  welled,  and  now, 
Returning,  pours  its  ebbing,  golden  floods 
Sheer  down  the  sloped  sides  of  our  floating  isle, 
And  leaves  it,  drifting  huge,  among  the  stars, 
A  world  of  shades,  departed  waves  of  aether, 
In  sphery  music,  closing  from  behind. 

And  now,  a  vision  of  ineffable  beauty, 
I  see  her,  hovering  o'er  the  glimmering  hills, 


THE   APOCALYPSE   OF   THE  SEASONS.  1G3 

The  angel  of  the  Day,  sweet,  solemn  Eve : 

Tier  shadowy  locks,  far-waving,  dropping  dews 

T"  impearl  the  radiant  forehead  of  the  morn ; 

Gemmed  with  the  crescent  Moon  her  brow  benign ; 

Her  stilly  feet,  with  slumberous  sandals  winged  ; 

The  floating  volumes  of  her  lucid  stole, 

Star-girt,  and  verged  with  shimmering  light ;  her  hands, 

In  benediction,  o'er  the  earth  outstretched: 

All  glistering  her  serene  and  fathomless  eyes 

With  ravishing  glimpses  of  Elysian  fields ; 

All  musical,  yet  silent  too,  her  lips 

Ethereal,  with  the  words  once  dropped  from  heaven, 

Whose  echo  still  in  airs  terrestrial  live  : 

Sleep,  sleep  !     He  giveth  His  beloved  sleep  ! 


A  WINTER  NIGHT. 


NIGHT,  as  in  rigid  trance,  now  holds  the  earth. 
How  pulseless  !     As  if  Death,  that  mightier  shade, 
With  icy  hand  had  smote  her  many  forms 
Of  beauty,  erst  displayed  in  verdure,  bloom, 
And  crowning  fruit,  and  withering  without  ruth, 
Had  left  the  memory  only,  or  the  hope. 


1G4  SEEN    AND    HEARD. 

And  yet  'tis  but  a  pause  in  Nature's  pulse, 
Where  life  lives  on,  unseen,  unfelt,  unheard, 
As  in  the  pauses  of  a  symphony, 
Unuttered  music  fills  the  listening  soul. 

And  what  is  Night  but  Earth's  own  shadow,  cast 
On  aether  by  the  Sun,  that  she  may  see, 
If  pure  her  airs,  the  heavens  wherein  she  moves, 
Erst  hidden  by  the  blue  opaque  of  Day  ? 
Another  deep  significance  hath  Night : 
Around,  far-ranging,  sweeps  her  slender  cone, 
Traversing,  like  an  index,  th'  ambient  heavens, 
And,  star  by  star,  forever  telling  time — 
Forever  pointing  towards  the  Infinite. 

And  Death  ?     'Tis  but  the  Winter  of  the  Soul, 
Wherein  her  germ  of  immortality 
May  gather  strength  and  beauty  for  the  Spring 
That  cndeth  not,  e'en  in  the  endless  Summer. 

O'er  all  the  forms  of  matter  Death  has  power, 
That  life  may  multiply  to  infinity; 
Uut  o'er  their  essence,  or  their  elements, 
He  power  hath  none ;  for  these,  instinct  with  life 
Imperishable,  make  Nature  what  she  is, 
Fit  body  to  report  the  life  of  life  to  human  sense. 
In  proof  whereof,  behold  the  vernal  resurrection 
Of  the  flowers,  the  autumnal  ripening 
Of  unfailing  fruits,  which  lend  their  forms, 


THE   APOCALYPSE   OF   THE  SEASONS.  1G5 

That  from  their  elements  may  spring  the  higher  life 
Displayed  in  thought,  sensation,  motion:  Man,  th'  micro- 
cosm. 

Then  Death  is  change,  and  change  is  life,  and  life 
And  change  and  Death  are  one — and  God  in  all. 

Darker  and  darker  sink  the  shades  of  earth, 
Brighter  and  brighter  rise  the  lights  of  heaven. 
O !  blest,  sublime  Apocalypse  of  Night, 
That  doth  unfold  in  higher,  wider  view 
Than  Day  the  wonders  of  his  brighter  sphere, 
More  wonders,  Infinite  Wisdom  to  attest. 
Blest  compensation  !  proof  how  Love  Divine 
Spangles,  with  glory,  shades  of  sombrest  hue. 
Blest  reassurance  !  that  in  the  universe 
There's  nothing  lost,  though  lost  to  human  ken. 

Eternity,  Pensylla,  then,  is  ours; 
Wherein  to  seek,  and  find  more  goodly  grown, 
More  excellent,  more  fair,  what  we  have  lost, 
Amid  the  shadows  of  this  dim  sojourn, 
Of  joy,  or  hope,  or  love,  or  thing  of  beauty, 
By  fate  adverse  to  opportunity, 
Or  wise  withholding  of  just  heaven.     In  sign 
Whereof,  see,  on  her  ebon  towers  that  mark 
Her  Eastern  goal,  Night  hangs  her  lesser  orb, 
Clear  beaming  as  th'  Evangel's  shield  of  faith, 


166  SEEN    AXD    HEARD. 

In  that,  on  her  responsive  disk  is  seen 

The  reflex  glory  of  the  ruling  orb, 

Unseen,  which  else  might  seem  to  earth  as  lost. 

Nor  in  the  realms  of  air  alone  is  all 
This  glory  spent : — the  snowy  plains  of  earth, 
Her  frosty  woods  and  hoary-headed  hills, 
Her  frozen  lakes  and  icy-crystal  veins, 
Glint  a  wan,  solemn  splendor,  like  the  smile 
That  sometimes,  after  Death  hath  fixed  his  seal, 
Comes  o'er  the  faces  of  the  sainted  dead, 
As  if  the  disembodied  spirit,  poised 
On  viewless  wings,  were  lingering  near  to  cast, 
Ere  final  parting,  on  the  friend  forsaken 
Some  feeble  beam,  the  pledge  of  light  beyond, 
AVherein  all  mortal  soil  is  purged  away, 
And  Immortality's  pure  robe  put  on. 

Then,  to  the  spirit's  perception  unsuffused, 
Death,  the  portentous  phantom  that  appalls 
The  carnal  sense  of  them  who  only  see 
The  shadow  cast  and  not  the  light  obscured, 
Is  but  an  usher  at  the  vestibule 
Of  real  life,  opening  its  lucid  ports 
Search  more  than  to  admit  the  disenthralled, 
Lest  mortals,  spying  the  radiant  heights  beyond, 
Grow  weary  of  this  dusky  vale,  and  hence, 
Perforce,  betake  them  ere  his  summons  come. 


THE   APOCALYPSE   OF   THE   SEASONS.  167 

DAWNING  GLIMPSES  OF  IMMORTALITY. 


MORX,  noon,  eve,  night — a  day,  a  year — a  life! 
What  next  ?     Another  day  ?  another  year  ? 
For  that,  let  hope  suffice.     Another  life? 
For  that,  let  faith.     We  are.     What  need  we  more  ? 

Time  his  similitude  may  find  in  day ; 
His  morn,  the  Past;  though  morn  without  a  dawn 
Sprung  from  the  glory  of  the  dread  Unknown ; 
His  eve,  the  Future  ;  eve  without  a  wane, 
Merged  in  the  glory  of  the  dread  Unfound. 
But  the  similitude  no  further  holds ; 
His  noon,  the  Present,  is  forever  here, 
As  if  he  were  a  sun  revolving  round 
Th'  Eternal  and  Immeasurable  Orb — 
Eternity  his  year — his  year,  his  noon — 
And  drawing  us,  perforce,  with  him  along, 
To  keep  the  shadow  of  our  destiny 
Forever  cast  in  his  meridian  beams 
And  on  the  equinox  of  the  Unzoned  Orb ; 
Forever  from  the  night  that  follows  on, 
And  midway  set  betwixt  the  dread  Unknown, 
The  dread  Unfound,  and  singing,  without  rest, 
From  Everlasting  e'en  to  Everlasting, 
I  am  here ! — God  is  here ! — Now ! — Now  "  !  I 


168  SEEN    AND    HEARD. 

A  light  begins  to  climb,  in  cloven  beams 
And  hues  auroral,  up  the  Eastern  sky. 
Watchman  who  walk'st  upon  the  walls  and  spell'st  the  stars, 
What  of  the  night  ?     What  mean  those  cloven  beams 
Auroral  in  the  sky  ?     0  turn  thec  towards 
Jerusalem,  and  tell  us  of  the  night! 

The  morning  cometh — those,  the  foremost  beams, 
Already  imaged  on  the  golden  shields, 
Circling  my  watch-towers  in  the  sky.     Come  up ! 
Behold  ye  not  the  Morning  Star  ?     Return  ! 
Abide  in  faith !  in  Him  who  came  from  Hades, 
His  garments  red  with  blood!  he  came,  he  went; 
Again  he  came  and  went — again  shall  come — 
His  garments  white  with  light ;  but  goes  no  more. 
Whence,  whither,  to  what  end,  and  how,  his  word 
Attests ;  let  that  suffice — what  need  we  more  ? 
Our  Morning  Star,  he  shines  till  we  to  light 
May  grow  inured,  when  God,  our  Sun,  shall  shine, 
That  ne'er  hath  ceased  to  shine,  and  shine  forever! 

Then,  Soul  immortal  mine,  I  give  thee  joy, 
As  come  from  God,  and  thither  to  return, 
In  some  appointed  order,  when  the  years 
And  seasons,  measuring  out  in  mystic  dance 
.   The  stages  of  thy  trial,  shall  declare 
Thy  morn  of  victory  risen,  and  worthiness 


THE    APOCALYPSE   OF   THE   SEASONS.  1  G'J 

To  be  all  glorified  with  some  small  beam 

Of  glory,  e'en  the  glory  of  Him  that  gave  thcc. 

A  flame  thou  art,  sprung  from  th'  eternal  Sun, 
Casting  thy  shade  in  His  all-flooding  sheen, 
As  fire  that,  burning  in  the  sunshine,  casts 
Its  shadow  on  the  ground — light  breaking  light  — 
Breaking  the  less  as  clearer  burns  the  blaze.    • 
Then,  Soul  of  mine,  burn  clear!     Nor  self-eclipsed. 
Nor  aught  eclipsing,  break  that  Light  Divine 
From  falling,  in  its  beauty,  strength  and  joy, 
On  aught  that  lives,  or  man,  or  bird,  or  beast. 
Come  not  between  that  blessing  and  their  need, 
Lest  it  from  thee  forever  be  withdrawn  ; 
But  in  and  through  tliy  being  lot  it  shine, 
As  shines  the  sun  in  heaven's  bow-listed  cloud 
And  through  the   "  storied  window  richly  diglit," 
Where  light  is  only  varied  to  reveal 
How  manifold  its  forms  of  beauty  arc. 

As  darkness  is  but  interrupted  light, 
Kvil  may  be  but  interrupted  good. 

Then,  Soul  of  mine,  burn  clear  !    Purge  from  thine  essence 
All  that  may  thwart  or  blur  the  Goodly  Light, 
That  they,  in  fleshly  dungeons,  may  behold 
Through  thcc,  as  through  a  window  opeu  to  heaven, 
How  the  Great  Sun  is  shining  on  us  all — 
How  lovingly,  how  beautifully  shining  — 


I  TO  SEEN   AND   HEARD. 

Till  he  may  count  thee  worthy  to  be  called 
The  express  image  of  his  glory. 

Meanwhile,  whate'er  befall,  abide  in  faith. 
The  pains  and  sorrows  that  afdict  thy  being 
"  Are  but  the  shadow  of  God's  providence, 
By  the  great  Sun  of  Wisdom  cast  thereon." 

When  thoughts  like  these  trouble  my  spirit's  deep, 
Far  glimpses  of  the  Shining  Infinite 
Break  through  the  dawn  of  my  incipient  being, 
And,  for  a  space,  light  up  its  mystic  shades 
With  glory  unspeakable.     The  infinite 
In  love,  the  infinite  in  harmony, 
In  time,  space,  power — in  beauty,  wisdom,  goodness  ; 
And  when  gone  glimmering  through  the  dread  abyss, 
They  leave  me,  once  more  wandering  up  and  down, 
Lost  in  the  mazes  of  my  destiny- 
Lost  till  my  Morning  Star  once  more  I  find. 

Watchman,  what  of  the  night  ?    The  Morning  Star 
Begins  to  pale,  as  from  before  th'  advance 
Of  Sovereign  Glory  5  the  starry  eyes  of  heaven > 
Whose  guiding  glances,  erring  never,  led 
The  trembling  wanderer  through  the  perilous  night, 
Their  blue  lids  soon  shall  close  before  the  Eye 
That  closes  never ;  and  the  moon,  erewhile 
Bright  as  the  shield  of  faithj  shall  cease,  ere  long, 


THE   APOCALYPSE  OF   THE  SEASONS.  171 

To  be  the  evidence  of  light  not  seen. 

Come  up,  and  look  ye  towards  Jerusalem ! 
Where,  city  of  beautiful  gates  and  templed  towers, 
And  shining  shapes  glimpsing  along  her  walls, 
All  glorified,  she's  miraged  on  the  heavens, 
Beneath  the  Morning  Star,  her  Living  Light ! 
Come  higher  up,  and  look  beyond!  where,  land 
Of  beautiful  entrances  and  templed  mounts, 
With  heavenly  heralds  glancing  to  and  fro, 
Earth,  glorified,  is  miraged  on  the  heavens, 
And  rising  to  the  Morning  Star,  her  Crown! 

Ye  prophets  of  Jehovah,  come  and  read, 
While  yet  the  dome,  insphering  the  dome  of  day, 
All  pictured  with  the  dreams  of  earth,  enskied, 
Glows  with  the  symbols  of  the  Hand  Divine, 
And,  with  illumined  eyes,  interpret  us 
The  dread  hand- writing  on  those  crystal  walls ! 

To  him  who,  with  due  reverence,  fain  would  know 
All  knowledge,  fain  would  reach  all  excellence, 
The  constellated  glories  of  the  heavens 
Boast  not  a  meaningless  magnificence ; 
But  are  the  fiery  hieroglyphs  of  God, 
Traced  on  the  infinite  blue  scroll  to  spell 
The  awful  mysteries  of  Eternity  ; 
To  solve  the  mighty  problem,  star  by  star, 


172  SEEX   AND    HEARD. 

System  by  system,  of  high  Destiny, 
Which,  never  solved,  yet  solving  ever,  spreads, 
Advances,  rises,  brightens,  grows  in  strength, 
Approaching  ever,  reaching  never,  God, 
The  Omnipresent,  tho  Unattainable ! 

1862,   18C3. 


Printed  by  KtUy,  Piet  and  Company,  Baltimore. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


LDURL        AU 

Ifl^rtab1 


Phi 


Form  L9-100m-9,'52(A3105)444 


35l5  Seen  and  heard, 


SEP  o  4  195; 


PS 

3515 
H3li5s 


